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The Abbot's room was empty. The smarmy young men from the funeral parlour had come and taken the body away with a promise to have it back by Sunday.

The bed, which a ceded all semblence of a legged piece of furnature at the same time that the Abbot had headed for his heavenly reward, had been bundled into the rubbish skip.

The Abbots personal belongings had been donated to the Brotherhood Shop for disposal. The floor and walls had been scrubbed to remove the spatters of blood.

If his computer had have been present and switched on it would have shown the following message:


Good day.

I am writing to inform you that you should get across to me by mail immdiately on your safe arrival in london today and of any development,wishing you goodluck.

Blessing Justice.

But it wasn't. And it therefore it didn't.

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