Nichols, Alison, Julie, Rose, Maurice
This is a fast read (most of it), but many scenes are annoyingly repetitious; the denouement is much too long, but the ending itself is orginal and poignant, beautiful, and very well written.
I was born in 1927, the only child of middle-class parents, both English, and themselves born in the grotesquely elongated shadow, which they never rose sufficiently above history to leave, of that monstrous dwarf Queen Victoria.
A flight of pigeons over the houses; fragments of freedom, hazard, an anagram made flesh. And somewhere the stinging smell of burning leaves.
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