The Last Letter From Your Lover By Jojo Moyes

The Last Letter From Your Lover By Jojo Moyes

Prologue: She’s waking up. There was a swishing sound, a chair was dragged, then the brisk click of curtain rings meeting. Two voices murmuring.  I’ll fetch Dr. Hargreaves.  A brief silence followed, during which she slowly became aware of a different layer of sound— voices, muffled by distance, a car passing: it seemed, oddly, as if it were some way below her. She lay absorbing it, letting it crystallize, letting her mind play catch-up, as she recognized each for what it was. It was at this point that she became aware of the pain. It forced its way upward in exquisite stages: first her arm, a sharp, burning sensation from elbow to shoulder, then her head: dull, relentless. The rest of her body ached, as it had done when she . . . When she . . . ? He’ll be along in two ticks. He says to close the blinds.

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