’ Mrs Sindlesham’s alert glance found his. But all of that was forgotten. Now that she was his, to make or mar, she presented an extraordinary fascination. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. Straitened circumstances would not have mattered; a mother would have managed somehow. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil.
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