He wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist rather than a handkerchief, which is a small thing and which is exactly what a man actually does.

Margaret sat there with her granddaughter’s hand in hers and thought: either I am a monster, or he is.

There was no third option available and she has never found one since.

The casket was at the front, open, on a bier with an arrangement of white flowers Margaret had not chosen and Emily would have hated.

Emily was in a black dress with a high lace collar that came up to the jaw.

Margaret had noticed it the moment she walked in, and her first thought had not been suspicion.