Gull-keenings and babies mewing, over-heated under beach-canopies. Half opening her eyes, Dora found herself casqued in her cap. Heard the murmured chat of Hannah and Eirlys. Thought of the stretching-out of the decades since Spain, so that you could never be certain of the integrity of your memory. I was only nineteen, she thought. How much of it had she invented? Not the byre, not the sofa, not Rosa. And she had taken from Lachlan a leaven of his good qualities. He had taught her a measure of tolerance, that was beyond dispute. He'd pointed out that, in her rancour against Calvinism, she sounded quite Calvinist.