Hilda Hogg bit the bullet and set herself to flog her figurine of ole King Zog bequeathed by her fabled auntie Dora who held a candle for the old despot. Times was hard, there was a duck at the door with a hat on, Bailiff Bernard dunning a bill.
‘Adieu, old chum’ she whispered through a final lucky lick on the pate of the china chappie in her trembling hands. If she had really had a candle she would have lit it and muttered a homily to tractor production in Albania.
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