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“Stop it,” Evie begged. She looked at the pile of dirty dishes – her mother’s best china. Mother had insisted that everyone should come back to the house for tea, insisted on the good cups and saucers.
“Should have done them last night,” her mother repeated. “I said, didn’t I? But, oh no, too lazy for that––or too drunk.”
“Drunk?” Evie said. “You know I don’t drink.”
“Oh, really? I wasn’t cold in my grave yesterday and you were at it.”
“One whisky, Mother, at your wake – to warm me up. It…
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