“Get you a cold one?” “No thanks. Missy is into the witchcraft stuff, Wicca, nothing bad or anything. She smiled and started for the stairs without reply. “Do you want some of mine?” “Yes. She bent down. We haven’t. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. He took a handful of the gravelly mud, with which the platform was covered, and threw the small pebbles, one by one, towards the gleam. “You did good!” She closed her eyes and rested in the moment, imagining a normal life where she would go to college, have babies with John, watch her children have children, live, and die as she had always wanted to. He went on munching his water-chestnuts, and stared at the skyline.
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