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The dead haunt us, but do we care about them

By CAR Hills   October 2000

four years ago I went to the Horniman Museum in Lewisham one hot August afternoon. Afterwards, I sat in the museum’s garden, and wondered how much time I had left. I was 41, out-of-condition, out-of-sorts, unemployed and unattached.

The museum is on a hill, with views over London which are called commanding. I sat on a bench feeling a miserable failure-both privately and professionally-added to which I had pains all over my body. But on a whim I walked up the hill, and on another park bench I surrendered myself and my body to the sun and south London below.…

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