She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. ‘Hilary was right. The aspect of the place, so far as he could discern through the gloom, was strange to him; but chancing to raise his eyes above the level of the surrounding habitations, he beheld, relieved against the sombre sky, the tall steeple of Saint Giles's church, the precursor of the present structure, which was not erected till some fifteen years later. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. ’ He quirked an eyebrow. . "I could have sworn I saw him enter this passage. ” “What case?” “A divorce—or something—I don’t know.
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