She would never again be lonely. Eventually her movements carried her to the little stand at the side of the bed. It was neither good nor bad. A black-garbed figure crept forward, noiselessly, towards Gosse’s back. "Bury her in Willesden churchyard, as she requested, on Sunday," said Jack. ‘Fiddle, Gerald. ‘If you did not want me to talk of it,’ she told him with characteristic insouciance, ‘you should not have mentioned the matter to me.
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