You are still my life."Robin's head came up. "Lottë? Oh my darling!"He leapt to his feet and enfolded her. They clung to each.Robin finally managed t... get his brain back in order. "I'm sorry, darling" he said softly. "I thought I was being fair to you but I wasn't. I was deeply hurtful and wounding. I'm so, so sorry, my darling. Please, please forgive me." I do, my love. I love you too much not to." Oh Lottë, my darling Lottë, thank you." And do you forgive me for yelling at you like that?". Earlier I have told that I lived in number 11, but as you shall see I couldn't very well write the story about number 9 without involving myself, and to tell you the truth, I'm not too proud of my part in that story.In number 9 lived the younger of our two vicars with his wife. He was a tall, skinny and somber man, and from official records I knew him to be 46 years old. His wife was 8 years younger, and to the eye she was the typical vicar's wife, a demure, slight woman, always dressed in the. More

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