Timmy, the first one, had been her favourite. She’d forgotten now really what her husband looked like, since he’d been dead twelve years. But she’d never forget what Timmy was like, dying in the charity hospital of typhoid. And Rupert close after him. We all had it better once, Mrs Maddison decided. We were real folks once; we had places to live, and we had families, and we knew what we’d be doing the next year and the next one. Now, now …
