The Taken Girls. G.D. Sanders
As a boy he liked small things, living things which moved. At least, they were moving when he caught them, moving when he first put them in his jars. Later they would stop and he would transfer them with a pin to the boxes in which he kept his collection. He never tired of his collection.
Who should it be? A 17-year-old, one who kept herself to herself, not shy but perhaps a little old-fashioned; such a girl would be perfect.
He’d studied several and chosen Teresa. Hers was an ordered life: school, church and home. On Fridays, she left her Bible study class at half past five and returned to her parents’ house on the southern edge of Canterbury, in an affluent neighbourhood well away from the tourist-packed city centre. There, beyond the Kent County Cricket Ground, the Nackington Road footpath was