The winding path grew perilously narrow a hundred yards farther up the slope overlooking the valley. At that point on its flank, the mountain was no longer an expanse of slope, but turned into a steep cliff. The least little misstep could prove fatal. There was nothing for the clumsy individual to cling to, no trees, no bushes, no platform; all that emerged from the rocky wall were jagged boulders ready to tear a body to shreds. Gabrielle slowed down to look all around. No one was climbing the path behind them, there were no hikers in the opposite valleys. No witnesses, therefore. Only a handful of sheep, five hundred yards to the south, were greedily filling the meadows, their heads bent to the grass they were grazing. “Well, old girl, are you tired?” She winced at the way her husband called her “old girl”: precisely the sort of thing he shouldn’t say if he wanted to save his skin. He turned around, anxious to know why she had stopped.
What do You think about The Woman With The Bouquet?
