It was horrible, but she must do it. ‘Believe it or not, I do it for pleasure. She recoiled. Beneath these prints, a cluster of hobnails, driven into the wall, formed certain letters, which, if properly deciphered, produced the words, "Paul Groves, cobler;" and under the name, traced in charcoal, appeared the following record of the poor fellow's fate, "Hung himsel in this rum for luv off licker;" accompanied by a graphic sketch of the unhappy suicide dangling from a beam. Ann Veronica ignored her friend’s confusion. He is here by your side. I'll be with you in a jiffy. I do not admit the truth of a word which you have said. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. Her eyes threatened to leak tears, she blinked. uk Cover Art by David Evans Bailey www.
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