She walked back to where he was standing and seething at her. She approached him so quickly that he didn’t have a chance to move out of her way. She got close to him, too close to deny, too close to evade, and she knew the same power he’d known the night before when he loomed over her in the garden shed and she felt the you-could-leave slough away like so much dead skin, replaced by a shining sense of purpose. “You will not drive me away from this house,” she said. “You will not be the last one here. I don’t care what you think you know. I don’t care what you think you’ve seen. I don’t care
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