She folds on the last morning and takes her coat and goes, and neither of them stops her because neither of them knows what to say that is not a rule.
She writes in November. Three lines, extremely dull, entirely about work, and there is one sentence in it that is not.
MalfoidShe has written to say she is fine and that we should sell the cards. I have never heard her lie about anything so badly.
The two of them keep the deck. Nobody plays it. It sits in a drawer and gets moved from flat to flat for four years.