The woman behind the counter dived and came up with a book in her hand.

“You dropped it in the High Street,” she said in a resigned voice. “Good afternoon.”

The little dowdy creature moved up. She leaned on the counter and whispered.

Anne stood there, tall, fair, and thin. She looked over the stooped shoulders of the elderly man, shivering a little and drawing her fur coat about her. Her hair hung down over the collar in a rough bob. It had a dull, neglected look, but it was thick, and with a little care it would be bright again. Just now it might have been a light brown burned by the sun, or a much fairer shade dimmed by neglect. She was bare-headed. A long straight lock fell forward on either side, framing a thin oval face, straight nose, pale well-shaped lips, very deep grey eyes, and fine arched brows much darker than the hair.

The coat which she drew close was a very handsome one. The soft dark fur would be flattering when she had got something done to her face and her hair. That was the next thing. She buoyed herself up with the thought. In about ten minutes this ration-card business would be over and she could go and have her hair cut and waved and see what was to be had in the way of facepowder and lipstick. She was perfectly well aware that she was looking a mess, and Philip wasn’t going to see her like that.

Less than ten minutes now… less than five… The little whispering woman had gone, and the elderly man was going.

She moved up into the vacant place and set down her bag on the counter. Like the coat, it was or had been very expensive, but unlike the coat it showed signs of wear. The dark brown leather was rubbed and stained, a piece of the gold initial A had broken off. Anne undid the clasp, took out a ration-book, and pushed it across the counter.