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I sat up and looked at Mrs Higgens. I moved my head in the
way they liked, and she clapped my coat and stroked my face.
She pressed her lips together as she tried to open an old tea
tin. ‘Mrs Gurdin told me this morning she comes to Europe
a lot of the time, and she always arranges to take dogs from
England. She finds lovely homes for them in California.’ Mrs
Higgens, as she spoke, was looking at me with a brand ofself-
pity, the kind that imagines other people’s lives are always
more exciting than their own. She finally got the tin open
and took out a collar that smelt immediately of leather that
had spent many long hours out in the rain. ‘Walter used to
look after the dogs,’ said Mrs Higgens, ‘the ones at Rodmell as well, and this was Pinker’s collar. You don’t inherit much in this family. Mr Grant is seventy-five. We’re not that kind of family. But Vita gave this to Mrs Woolf’s dog and now I’m giving it to you.’ She made the collar small, taking it down several notches. Then she fastened it around my neck with the great ceremony that English people reserve for moments
of minor sentiment, and I was immediately glad to have its
story with me.
Excerpted from The Life and Opinions of Maf the Dog, and of His Friend Marilyn Monroe by Andrew O'Hagan. Copyright © 2010 by Andrew O'Hagan. Excerpted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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