Tucked into the inside cover of one of the notebooks was a postcard, a colour reproduction of Roland Savery’s Dodo in a Landscape. The combs in her thick, black hair glint in the dimness. Then it rolled to its side and let out a satisfied heavy sigh. No way of telling how long ago it had been here.
They made no effort to resist the authorities. “Was it you?” says Pete. It was likely they wouldn’t stop until nightfall. She said nothing for a long while, and then her hand gently took his, and their fingers interlocked.
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