"Inside, it's suddenly evening, suddenly quiet. Almost subterranean. Little glowing lights, opulent gloom. Big smooth pillars. Grey daylight gleaming weakly in the windows, seemingly a long way off, as if the outside world has gone faint and distant. The way it does when you're lying in hospital, wondering if you'll ever get back there. Like my Dad last year, that evening on the ward, my last visit."

The third part of a hyperfiction based on visits to churches in the City of London. Part 3 takes in the following:

Newly co-published by Furtherfield and The Hyperliterature Exchange: an appreciation of Millie Niss, the writer and new media artist, who died in November of last year.

"Mr Thornton walked rapidly, without awaiting Dixon's slow movements. Margaret stood by the tea-table, resolved. The lines in her father's face were soft and waving, with a frequent undulating kind of trembling, the dreamy lids a considerable distance from the eyes. Mr Thornton's straight brows fell low, principally about the lips, one moment stretching from earth to sky and filling all the width of the horizon, at the next obediently compressed into a vase."