Chapter Twenty-six As autumn and its warm, golden days drew to an end, the sky darkened, with birds migrating to warmer climates, and the early-morning frost made the grass stiff and white. Christmas was fast approaching and still there was no talk of me returning home. Every time I asked how my mother was and when I was going to see her, I was told she needed to rest and the subject was skilfully changed. Each week I wrote long letters telling her about my new friends and what I had learnt at school, and by return she sent me hers, but they seemed shorter now, there were fewer drawings and the writing was spidery. It was when our class was rehearsing for the annual nativity play that the headmistress walked into the room and beckoned me. My aunt was coming to fetch me and I should gather my things, she told me. With a child’s unclouded instinct I knew that something had happened to my mother. When my aunt arrived I noticed that, apart from two red spots high on her cheekbones, her face was pale and drawn.
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