And as he sat in this humble old church, with the round tower that lost its sinister aspect when seen up close, he looked back on the teenager who’d left Leda and her dangerous naivety only to fall for Charlotte, and her equally dangerous sophistication, and knew definitively, for the first time, that he was no longer the person who’d craved either of them. He forgave the teenager who’d pursued a destructive force because he thought he could tame it, and thereby right the universe, and make all comprehensible and safe. He wasn’t so different from Lucy, after all. They’d both set out to refashion their worlds, they’d just done it in very different ways. If he was lucky, he had half his life to live again, and it was time to give up things far more harmful than smoking and chips, time to admit to himself he should seek something new, as opposed to what was damaging but familiar. The kindly sheep-faced man had reappeared. As he made his way back down the aisle, he paused uncertainly beside Strike. ‘I hope you’ve found what you needed.’ ‘I have,’ said Strike. ‘Thank you.’
Galbraith, Robert. The Running Grave: Cormoran Strike Book 7 (chapter 64). Little, Brown Book Group.
Pics via strikefans.com
