The Faded Bouquet
The Faded Bouquet I received the bouquet on a Tuesday, three days after the memorial service had ended and the last guest had driven away from our house in Hampstead. It arrived in a plain cardboard box with no return address, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. The florist's card inside bore only a single line in neat, precise handwriting: "Seven is the number that remembers." I...
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