Angela swayed, suddenly dizzy, clinging on to the iron balustrade as the rocks and the river swirled below her. A three-funnelled clipper swept under her feet, belching steam, heading for the port. It gave her pause for a moment. She would not risk others. That wasn’t her way, even if it was Howard’s. She waited until she was sure the ship was clear of the bridge, and took one last, long look around, saying a mental goodbye to the city, to Leigh Woods, which swept down to the abutment where they had walked when they were courting, to the elegant curving terrace where her hopes had withered and died with Charlotte. Even now, someone could be racing across the Downs to rescue her. She shook her head to clear the fantasy. No one was coming. In all the sprawling city, she had no one. No one would miss her. There was no one on the bridge, and the grey, restless water was clear. She gathered her heavy skirts up to her waist, holding them bunched in one fist while she swung one bare leg, and then the other, over the railing. The drop seemed a lot further on this side of the fence.
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