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“The poor man had to get his wife to retype every letter after I’d gone. In the end, he said, ‘Well, if you can’t type, maybe you’d be better at finding the story.’
My first story was a fire in the East End. A faulty boiler. It killed two families and orphaned a twelve year old boy. I doorstepped the landlord until he admitted he was at fault. It made page six.”
