She wipes her swollen, veined hands with the hem of the apron wrapped around her big frame. The minute she sees me, her face alters from relaxed to pitying. “Dear God, Malachy. How have you been? I’ve been meaning to come check on y—” “Have you seen a strange-looking man around by any chance?” I cut her off. I did not consider the fact that the entire village treats me like Moses left in the reeds of the Nile River—maybe to survive, probably to die a slow, lonely death. Surely Rory’s going to pick up on my sob story soon, if she hasn’t already. Brenda’s brows nosedive. “How do you mean? Dodgy
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