"Moire stood in the croft house’s porch, watching Goodman leave, plotting her escape.His boots—thick leather the colour of oak, paler at the toe and heel—crunched in the shoal of pebbles he’d salvaged from the shore behind the house. A slab of grass, the dry stone wall, then the shore. And then…Moire had long since given up wondering what lay beyond the wall that marked the perimeter of her understanding because, once lured there by Goodman, she’d never been able to leave. ...