Pat manoeuvred the car along the icy
road. It was bitterly cold and the frost sparkled on bare and forlorn trees. A watery
sun picked its way through the branches to pick out shapes and make them glint.
But Pat was not interested in the beauty of the wood.
She pulled up before the bungalow.
This was not going to be easy. She
was going to have to give an Oscar performance.
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