‘I don’t have any money on me,’ said Down, snatching back his own death sentence before Pub could pocket it and sell it later to one of his many...dubious friends. He patted his pockets, theatrically. ‘Could you…?’ Pub sighed complicatedly, somehow managing to appear exasperated, generous and sinned-against in the same tobacco-drenched breath, but he reached a scrawny hand into his jeans and it emerged with a crumpled fiver. ‘Here. And mine’s a Guinness, right? And we’re off to the cash point. ****Epilogue: Dunham Village, Buckinghamshire, England===In the cloudless winter sky, I saw a jet plane flying high above.Condensation trails dispersing slowly in the cold air.The small churchyard was quiet. Breath frosting in front of me, I weavedmy way through the headstones. Surrounded by the skeletons of trees,bare fields glittering with hoar frost. Spring would be here soon, Iknew. The late January wind snapped at my bare stockinged calves.I had a bunch of flowers in my leather-gloved hand. More

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