Knowledge came at her in flashes only, truth glimpsed from between a lattice, there and then gone: a hare let loose at a party, a box of toys in the attic, a child’s crayon drawing of a horse on a wall behind a wardrobe. The rhubarb. The trees. Every day she woke up and every day the house unfolded around her like a dark hand. She leaned into rooms and the rooms leaned away. Eva had looked at her face and had written of it: Not even honey could sweeten that vinegar. Isabel would not look at herself now, could not bear to see what Eva had seen. She tried to stand tall and found it too heavy a
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