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Thoov, Aynas Widowed, one-breasted, Penny's world had shrunk to Blackpool. Seventh child of seventh child, she could count on so, so little except second sight, closed her curtains as though for a passing hearse, dealt her Tarot cards at neighbours, and sat there, weather-wise. Picture how a claw hammer angles under a settled nail, grinds against the top grain, then slides out the clean metal fresh from first hammering. Penny works her audience and with her claw for grief, she plies her darkened seance. An unknown sound is ground for a gnomic reading. Ghosts arrive on time. Her sister's upstairs frapping the floor: one tap for "no", twice for "yes", with three slow bumps for some spiritualistic ambiguity. Her son hangs about the back, wanting to beat their ...
Source: HighBeam Research, Thoov, Aynas.(Poem)