Ruth did not reply, but stared past the doctor, her eyes misty. But here’s what is different this time. Come and see him, Lucia. Of all the entirely English women I know, you’re the only one with a French accent. “I know,” she said quietly, “that Paris, where she has been so much admired, is not a good place for her. She proffered her neck towards him. She looked at the white ankle socks on her feet and was reminded simultaneously of her pajama outfit and the suitcase that still lay underneath the bed. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle.
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