Andrew Fetler

“ Tilton was coming with a basket on her arm.
"You heard the child again, Mr. Coat?"
"Perhaps ... I was mistaken."
"Strange, I saw nobody." She put the basket on the kitchen table; it was filled with peas. "Did you have enough coffee?"
He nodded.
"Aren't you feeling well?"
"I ... am fine. Yes."
The executioner looked as if she could not make up her mind about him. Then she smiled. She brought out a wooden bowl, and sat down at the table to shell the peas.
"Why don't you take your walk now? You'll enjoy our little market place." ”

“ Mrs. Tilton went to get the berries. She had forgotten to serve cream with the coffee. The coffee had a bitter taste and a faint smell of iodine. But he was not used to natural coffee. And without cream. He took another sip and slowly stretched his stiff legs. In the window he saw lilac bushes in bloom.
"Picked this morning," Mrs. Tilton said, setting a bowl of strawberries before him.
"Oh, thank you." He sniffed at the berries. "They smell of earth," he said, smiling at her.
"You might like a walk after breakfast," Mrs. Tilton suggested. "Then you can have a restful nap at noon." ”

“ He could see past her into the kitchen—the corner of a large wood-burning stove and a row of brass pots. The floor was flagstoned and a hand pump stood over a sink.
"Do you really grow your own strawberries?" he asked. ”