28.4.11

Major Pettigrew's Last Stand

By Helen Simonson

"To tell Mortimer that he had never begrudged Bertie the gun had been a damn lie. Sitting on the seafront, his back pressed against the wooden slats of a park bench, the Major turned his face up to the sun. The sweater absorbed heat as efficiently as a black plastic bin liner, and it was pleasant to sit tucked away in the lee of the fisherman's black-tarred net-drying sheds, listening to the waves breaking themselves to pieces on the shingle."

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