Her thoughts took words for themselves. They went into Michelle's tiny bedroom, bare except for a dresser, a closet, and a miniscule single bed that resembled her own at the Becks. ‘Would you have me face my maker with that on my conscience? If I’d died, there’d have been no one to tell you, for your father would not have done. I don’t know if I express myself clearly. She felt the thrill race through her body. The spinsters were not kind; they were only curious because she was odd and wore a dress thirty years out of date. But not so much a pig as that man. ‘Have I not said so?’ ‘No, as it happens.
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