Thanks to the insurance policy of her late husband, Stella Campbell has money to spend. Establishing a new life and home in the peaceful village of Clipton St. Marks takes a lot of it. But she is content.for a while. the passive façade of the picture perfect setting soon crumbles, and exposes a dark place where things go terribly wrong. "My steps were muffled as I walked briskly along the narrow road. Snow was accumulating, and I had to pay attention so as not to slip.

No cars passed, and I became cognisant of the silence that surrounded me. the cold was numbing. I trudged on, scolding myself for not accepting the inspector's offer of a ride. It was a relief to see smoke pouring out of the rectory's tall chimneys in the distance. I had about half a mile to go, and began to recite Lear's whimsical poem, the Owl and the Pussycat, to keep myself company. the road continued into a bend, and it was there that I heard a sound--a sound that was not made by the wind or by my own step. I stopped. Silence.

I slowly took a couple of steps forward. Still nothing. Hedges that lined both sides of the road were still. Then a dry twig snapped from within the shrubbery to the right of me, sounding like a gunshot, and I took off running. My winter coat was heavy, and lashed against my legs, holding me back as panic escalated, and I stumbled blindly. My throat constricted as I gulped in frigid air, choking me. I could run no farther, and fell heavily onto the hard asphalt. I waited, certain I would succumb to the same fate as Miller, and covered my head with my arms in a pathetic attempt at protection.

Seconds passed. I could stand it no longer, and chanced a look back at the road where my own footprints were stamped in the snow. Gritting my teeth, I pulled myself up. My stockings were torn, and blood oozed down my legs. "Fool! You bloody fool!" I shouted aloud, and struck a fist against my head in disgust.".