A bitter cold has fallen across Horsingdon. Times are hard and it is likely that, this year, Winter will make ghosts of more than a few of the populace - especially amongst the old, the infirm, and the lonely.
Whilst many wish for signs of an early Spring as the herald of warmer climes, others - especially the more avaricious amongst Horsingdon’s monied classes, unaffected by the politics of austerity - will soon wish differently: that they had been kinder, more caring, more neighbourly during the Winter months - or at least this will become the case as their consciences are nightly haunted by the spectres of those taken by the cold.
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