actually,” he said.

    iteps of invalids,   gone. topiary  t bushey were.

    ‘So it was Mrs. Love who…“ I began.

    ‘… found me. Yes.“

    ‘And your parents…“

    ‘No idea.“

    ‘But you kno was his house?“

    Aurelius so ts. ig expect oto understand. I  got any proof. But I do knoinue.

    ‘Sometimes you can kno yourself. t explain it.“

    I nodded, and Aurelius  on.

    ‘t I old me so, o er I looked it up in the local paper. Anyway—“

    akable ligelling sometremely important. A story so c o be dressed in casualness to disguise its significance in case tener turned out to be unsympatic.

    ‘Anye I got o myself. t about it. I knew.“

    it ness slip, alloo creep in. . “Obviously I don’t expect anyone to believe it. I’ve no evidence as suces, and Mrs. Love’s vague memory of a smell of smoke—and my oion.”

    ‘I believe it,“ I said.

    Aurelius bit  me a wary sideways look.

    , edly onto a peninsula of intimacy, and I found myself on telling o my antly into sentences, long strings of sentences, bursting ience to fly from my tongue. As if t years planning for t.

    ‘I believe you,“ I repeated, my tongue ting oo. Kno know. From before you can remember.“

    And t  in tant.

    ‘Did you see t, Aurelius?“

    o topiary pyramids and beyond. “See  see anything.”

    It   all.

    I turned back to Aurelius, but I  my nerve. t for confidences was gone.

    ‘ a birthday?“ Aurelius asked.

    ‘Yes. I’ve g