Old London Bridge. So I undertook to protect her by keeping love out of her life, by crushing it whenever it appeared, obliterating it. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. ’ ‘It is so in a convent, you see,’ she explained airily. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. It would make the young wife unhappy. You’re splendid stuff, you know, but you’ve got nothing ready to sell. A cup of lies.
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