Before the Monroes I was placed with a single woman, Leslie Cavendish. ’ ‘I don’t, as a matter of fact,’ Gerald said decidedly, a frown creasing his brow. Of his own certain knowledge he could tell them that. “It rained the whole of the time, but we saw all the sights, and the place never seemed dull. Her hair touched water, becoming like the seaweed in its velvet slickness. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. Her motherly features creased into anxious wrinkles. I was the last on board.
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