AS THOUGH LULLED BY the heavy September air and the fluting whisper of the River Tiffey half a field away, the woman lay sprawled on the parched earth, her limbs in the abandoned posture of a sleeping child. The sun, emerging from behind a solitary cloud, turned her cap of flaxen hair into spangled silk against the dry dross of the meadow. It bestowed such an appearance of sparkling, vibrant life that Inspector Rafferty took several steps back, his usual good sense overtaken by an illogical fear that she would waken and discover him looming over her.
Feeling foolish as he sensed Llewellyn's startled glance, he ignored his sergeant and continued to study the figure more circumspectly. Dressed in some leaf-green gauzy stuff that bunched around her slender thighs, she had the……
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