The next day, after breakfast, it was not yet eight-thirty.
Thomas Chapman drove with Lucy Ansley and Henry Ronan towards Benham Hill.
The springtime revealed itself in the budding branches along the street, while Lucy gazed calmly at the distant mountains, her eyes heavy with deep thoughts.
"When did you start coming to Benham Hill to worship Buddha?"
The man's steady tone carried a sense of reassuring composure, though the young girl's expression remained unchanged, her delayed gaze betrayed her complex emotions.
Lucy turned back, meeting the man's gaze from the opposite seat, and said blandly, "After something happened at home."
Henry lifted his eyelids slightly, seemingly trying to understand the connection.
Benham Hill is remote and not bustling with incense offerings; if one truly wanted to practice Buddhism, this would not be the ideal place.
