18 APRIL 1992, Page 29

A Novel in Three Quatrains

Once she was thin, and given to hysterics. She missed her meals and claimed to have TB, But rallied through a taste for aging clerics; Sat at some righteous feet; scraped a degree.

One lonely woman loved her then; regarded Her lies as truths — even, Divine afflatus. Was used, and patronised, and soon discarded. Security should be allied with status.

Fat; married to a bishop; growing fatter. She knows the cleaning ladies all by sight. Bury her when she's dead: such ash won't scatter. If there's a Hell, her soul will burn all right.

M.R. Peacocke