As she drove the familiar route to the school, she considered her magnificent new age. Forty. She could still feel ‘forty’ the way it felt when she was fifteen. Such a colourless age. Marooned in the middle of your life. Nothing would matter all that much when you were forty. You wouldn’t have real feelings when you were forty, because you’d be safely cushioned by your frumpy forty-ness. ‘Forty-year-old woman found dead.’ Oh, dear. ‘Twenty-year-old woman found dead.’ Tragedy! Sadness! Find that murderer! Madeline always had to do a minor shift in her head when she heard something on the news
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