“Father hates church bells. They hurt him.”
“Where are we now?”
“We are just coming to Mr. Brownlee’s farm.”
“I thought so. Brownlee’s chickens are making such a noise.”
It was a shame the way they had treated Father.
“What a lovely material your dress is made of.”
“Do you like it?”
“So much. It is so soft, one’s hand glides over it and then sinks down in the folds of it drowned in it, June. What colour are you wearing?”
“Blue.”
“Yes, it would be blue.”