Lathammoved in older circles. Britain could sink like Rome, under the barbarians, and we need never know nor care . Iris recalled as she slowly readLaura's large sprawled handwriting. re than a veiled shape, a woman like herself, a priestess, certainly not a Goddess nor the Old Death-crone.
She had failed them. I--' Youopened your big mouth again! Iris shot back. Oh, yes, I'mserving in a soup kitchen once a week. On ahot May evening drained by a long day at the office Laura sat beneaththe ceiling fan in her bedroom and read the sickening reports of thehorrors suffered in the Nazi camps.
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