The woman shrugged her shoulders. ‘Gerald, this is a nun’s habit. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. She gathered stones to place upon the makeshift grave. . I was grateful. ‘Yes, miss. Husbands and wives, young lovers, and mothers with strollers thronged in the streets, all savoring the fine cool weather. ‘I am done, Gérard. . The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky.
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