![]() Her life had become so confined that she seemed to be living in a small, dark box. A distant noise, a half-heard voice, a snatched moment of indirect contact. She didn't feel so completely alone then, as she did in the night.įor Rose Shepherd, this was the world. ![]() There might be the sound of a van in the street as someone headed off for an early shift at the quarry, or the rumble of a farmer's tractor in the field behind the house. ![]() She often spent the hours of darkness waiting for the first bird to sing, watching for the greyness of dawn, when she knew there'd be people moving about in the village. She'd started to think of it as an old friend, because it was always with her. Lack of sleep made her head ache, and her body had grown stiff with discomfort.īut sleeplessness was familiar to Miss Shepherd. Beneath her, the sheet was twisted into painful knots, the pillow hard and unyielding. By the early hours of the morning, her bed was like a battleground-hot, violent, chaotic. Even on the night she died, Rose Shepherd couldn't sleep. ![]()
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