Stomach of the Ventriloquist

Once upon a time, it was easier to live within a lie than to die with the truth, the knowledge a deathbed and the betrayal a coffin. It was more pleasant to fall asleep in a dream than to be awake in reality, and nobody dared make murder an art form. Once upon a time, mothers were lovely and caring and beautiful people and raised children to be just the same. There were no beggars, thieves, cabaret dancers, prostitutes, fortunetellers or ventriloquists because everyone was raised upright and respectable. Once upon another time, one bitch died and a whole nation mourned.