Illiterarty.com Book reviews and blogs by Bridget

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p>I was wearing one oven mitten in a floral print and holding a dishcloth with a picture of a kitten in the other hand, leaning over the oven and pulling out a tray of biscuits when I felt something at my feet.

Maybe I go to work every morning at six.

The park was windy and desolate, as the dark grass struggled through deciduous muck and the trees rattled skeletally, their colourful autumn ballgowns discarded for a naked death.