” “It isn’t necessary,” they both declared breathlessly. That night a grave was dug in Willesden churchyard, next to that in which Mrs. Ramage seemed always fencing about the forbidden topic, probing for openings, and she wondered why she did not give him them. She had found it in 1988, the year of the stock market crash. In the next box hangs the rope by which he suffered. She is a fortune-teller and a vessel for man’s pleasure.
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