‘And how does your husband like prison then? Better off there, by all accounts, than being with you, you dirty sow not even bothering to wash the sheets before eating them and I know all about your gorging yourself while I starved, you swollen suet pudding, to hell with you, spending all my few savings on your chapel hats and funeral handkerchiefs, you swollen stinkhorn stripping the trees of their leaves in winter and strutting around as if you were related to Snowdon, but you will be disappointed! I will silence you, oh yes I will, I will…’
‘Let me go you crazy madman,’ I shouted as he tried to strangle me, thinking that I was Mrs Tinker, come back to haunt him after he did her in one drunken night without telling anybody because he’d had enough. Pilgrim World knew the full story and he’d let slip enough of it talking in his sleep on the back of his mule in Bleak Winter.