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Slowly the noise settled as hands turned me. I was confused; in my blackness I envisaged that the space of the hall lay behind me, but that didn't see... right."Lot number forty-three," A commanding voice called out on my right, "a young filly, and a very nice looking wench she is..."His words were suddenly drowned by the cheers from the hall. Order was once more insisted upon and I could feel my legs trembling nervously while the crowd settled down."Thank you!" The voice of the auctioneer. Copyright 2014 * Ian Cameron was only half-listening to the words the Minister was saying as the two caskets were lowered into the ground. He and Maureen, his wife of 13 years, stood in somber reflection in the cemetery, alone amid dozens of people. Ian had known Bert Sharpe for many years and Anne Sharpe, nee Svenson, even longer. Now watching their caskets disappear into the earth the end of their friendship hit home. It was a hot, arid, summer day, the type of weather that dried the. More

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