Am I praising God or serving a penance? For each time I step into the church there is a nagging guilt at the core of me. In accordance with my custom, I went to All Souls Church to give thanks for the daughter they told me would never come. And a mother, who should nurture and protect, but instead . .” A betrayal of trust at such a young age, from those instinct prompts us to hold most dear . . . ‘Believe me, Mrs Bainbridge, I feel deeply for you. Or would she? A part of her, a small treacherous part, must want it to be known or she would not have written it, she would not have told him. First through coercion and then through a sort of mental necessity, you have hidden the fact that your parents mistreated you.’ If she still had a voice she would scream, No, no, speak of anything but that. And I think that’s what you have done, Mrs Bainbridge: drawn a veil. I cannot pretend to be ignorant of the hints you drop, however much natural delicacy would prefer to draw a veil over the subject. Childish memories, childish thoughts, that if she squeezed her eyes shut, somehow Dr Shepherd would not be able to see her. ![]() ‘You, I deduce, are afraid of becoming like either of your parents.’ They were bound to come, of course: the pinpricks of light in her vision and the rush like water in her ears. We are afraid of the things inside us – be they memories, sickness or sinful urges.’ He tilted his head. But do you know what really scares us? It is not things that go bump – or even hiss – in the night. ![]() “You have written of these “companions”, as you call them.
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