He had deliberately saved it for last. “Solitary walks?” “That’s the point of them. ‘Yes, a very sad story,’ agreed the major. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. Her softly intertwined fingers became rigid. Maternal relations. Bah. For a long time she surveyed a row of towering holly-hocks, as though they offered an explanation. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. I know. He does not look the criminal.
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