Mike wil not be up until at least midday as we have nothing planned. I haven’t explained where I am going, but we often abandon each other at the house, so there is nothing for him to suspect. The barn where Alice is probably hiding is a derelict one, however, I am stil cautious as I open the rickety door in case I am chased out again by a pitchfork or an Alsatian, or even by an aggressively suspicious farmer wondering what I am doing poking around his property. No such thing occurs. Instead I immediately see Alice perched on an old broken tractor. That would be an interesting statistic. How many old broken tractors are there in France? “You are on time,” Alice observes appreciatively, greeting me with the three-cheek-kiss. “Noblesse oblige.” “I said I would come, and ghosts do tend to be touchy.” “Not this ghost,” Alice responds turning on the charm and twirling slightly as she did last time. Coquettishness is built into the genes of French women, even when they don’t have them any more, which reminds me ….
What do You think about The Ghost Who Fed Them Bones?
