The Man Who Killed His Wife

The story is like a spell. There's a road, a woman, upheaval. Go left and you were the driver. Turn right and you made a choice that caused your wife to die. Even within the garden walls you must listen to his muttering, contemplate his regret. He is sorry, he is suffering. That much is perfectly clear. You pass driftwood crosses, orange poppies, clumps of yellow gorse. The sky is like a painting. You approach the edge of the cliff. It's a graphic masterpiece,. my child said, quoting an online review. This is just the lull. What happens after a reading is called a wine reception. Mostly, there is