But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. Her naked body was an abomination of caked filth and sagging tubes for breasts. ‘Yes, but quite my own fault. “Great, Cathy. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. “Broddick is a heavy man,” he was saying, “and the main interest of the play was the embezzlement.
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