He handed her a cheque for thirty-one pounds, ten shillings, and read the agreement through to her. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. Well, he was executed for murder. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. She immediately took the pillows from under the head of the man who had two names, released the collar and tie, and arranged the arms alongside the body. It is no good. A siphon and a whisky bottle stood before him.
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