Had he come to see her to find if she needed something? No. I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. At night she would turn it in her fingers like a rosary bead. ‘Now see here, missie. Yes, of course. “Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested. It’s made up of things as small as the diameter of hairs and big as life and death.
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