The news landed like a punch to the chest, sudden and unyielding. One of Britain’s most brilliant, sharpest tongues had gone silent, and in that silence, the world felt unbearably quiet, as though a mischievous laugh had been muted forever. She had not gone out with a grand protest or dramatic flourish. There was no headline-grabbing final appearance, no public fanfare, no staged goodbyes to a global audience. She had chosen her own moment, her own terms, her own room: a small London flat filled with the familiar comfort of home, her television casting its gentle glow across the furniture,...
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