fromwww.theguardian.com
6 days agoMy husband was murdered on holiday and my whole world collapsed
She was, she says, a block of stone. They were in the neurological ward of a huge hospital on the outskirts of Paris. Travelling on the Metro, the hospital name scribbled on a scrap of paper, it had taken Henderson an hour to find. Roderick looked comfortable when she arrived; he was a good colour, but there was a round red mark in the centre of his forehead and a small tube inside his mouth, attached to something she later learned was breathing for him.
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