"It was too hot to sleep so I stole her from bed, a bundle of white linen and brown limbs, ran outside -- our voices and footfalls echoing under the portico -- down the white shell path to the marsh until we reached the light keeper’s cottage. As soon as we got the door closed behind us (it took the strength of us both pushing against it to catch the lock), Cat started crooning. Her big little voice filling the dank belly of the lighthouse. It was all I thought of last night, two hours before Christmas, crouched on the gallery steps, alone."

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