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‘In a way, yes. I didn’t want to, but then I did, but now I
don’t want to any longer. And it’s your fault.’
‘Don’t want to any longer? My fault? Explain yourself a bit
better, will you?’
‘Yes, it’s your fault. You never listen to me.’
‘My fault! My fault! Are you out of your mind – am I the one
responsible for the letter arriving like this?’
She opens her hand around the crumpled piece of paper,
smooths it out with quivering hands, displays the evidence
in front of me.
‘Yes, if you’d been a bit more open, we could have talked
about it.’
‘Talked? All you’ve got to do is explain how this blank sheet
of paper got into the envelope I sent to the nursing home.’
‘But first you have to listen to me.’
‘Your excuses aren’t worth wasting a second on.’
‘You’ve got to. I can’t stand all this quarrelling.’