• Vol. 03
  • Chapter 08
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Barbara knew you, but you didn't know Barbara. She fixed her eyes on you. They were recognizable. She was a teacher, or else a nurse. Or maybe a combination. It was hard to say.
        "Isle of Wight," she said.
        "I'm sorry?"
        You pictured the shape of the island -- a kind of squashed diamond. The island always made you think of cows.         "You rented a cottage there for three summers. I lived up the road in a converted barn."
        "I don't think I've ever-"
        "It was years ago, mind."
        She seemed reticent about something. You couldn't remove yourself from her stare. Her sharp, grey eyes followed every one of your movements, as if they held the key to some riddle.
        "You've mistaken me for someone else."
        She smiled. Then nodded. She arched her eyebrows and pursed her lips just a little. She was wearing a black polo neck shirt, unsuited for the weather.
        "That's what they all say," she said, putting on her hat, and looking at you one last time.