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In Memoriam

She chiseled the stone, nimble fingers fluttering moth-like across the surface. Roses and willow she drew from it, cherubim and seraphim frozen in relief, like things still-born.

The bell announced the arrival of a visitor. He stood in the doorway, tall and lean, wearing a dark suit and a sneer, beneath thinning grey hair.

“Your master,” he uttered, brittle-voiced. “I wish to see him”. She stared at him, silently.

“To your work, Nancy,” said the proprietor, emerging. “Can I assist you, Sir?”

The visitor watched the retreating girl for a long moment before replying. “My Lord requires a headstone for his Lady, of the whitest marble.”

Eyeing him cooly, the other replied: “Such a stone will cost…”

“A deposit,” snapped the visitor, proffering a purse, the contents of which caused the other to gasp. “And the date and inscription thus.” He thrust a paper at him.

He read then paused, uncertainly. “But Sir, the date of passing…is three weeks hence.”

The visitor fixed him with an icy stare. “Quite so.”

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