Chapter Eighteen
Pat entered the King’s Head with
its array of interestingly named craft beers. She was surprised to see a half
on the table next to the usual white wine. The owner slowly raised the beer to
her lips. The retro railway clock chimed two.
The owner of the half-drunk beer
look round and smiled. Her long legs, encased in some sort of sloppy training
pants, were slung over another wooden chair. She swivelled round.
Who was this? Brownish hair
crumpled on top of her head. Little make up, a swipe of mascara and just above
the huge polo neck, lips without lipstick.
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