When I got to the church, on foot, slurping the last of a cappuccino from a Styrofoam cup, half a dozen of those big black hearse-like English taxis had formed a kind of procession in the roundabout out front, and some of the other guests were climbing out: middle-aged people leaning on their umbrellas like canes, the men and the women alike dressed in dark suits, because thi (...)
Article
A Poet's Unmistakable Voice
Remembering Ted Hughes
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