“Can you let me have a new book, please?”
Miss Marsh picked it up, brought a colourless gaze to bear upon it, raised her eyebrows, and said,
“This is a very old book-quite out of date.”
Anne leaned nearer.
“Yes, it is. You see, I’ve just come over from France.”
“ France?”
“Yes. I was caught there when the Germans came. I’ve only just managed to get away. Can you let me have a new book?”
“Well, no-I don’t see how we can-” She gave a fleeting glance at the cover of the book and added, “Lady Jocelyn.”
“But I must have a ration-book.”
“Are you staying here?”
“No-only passing through.”
“Then I don’t see what we can do about it. You’ll have to get your ration-book wherever you’re going to stay-at least-I don’t know-have you got your identity card?”
“Yes-here it is. I was lucky-a friend hid it for me, and some clothes, or I should be in rags, and one would rather not come back from the grave in rags.”
Miss Marsh’s eyes stared. She said nervously,
“I think I had better ask Miss Clutterbuck.” She slipped down from her chair and vanished.
About ten minutes later Anne emerged into the street. She had filled in a form, she had been given an emergency card for a fortnight, and the old identity card to keep until such time as a new one could be issued. She crossed the road and entered a telephone-box.
CHAPTER 2
Mrs. Armitage looked up from the Air Force pullover she was knitting, and immediately dropped a stitch. She was large, fair, and extremely good-natured. She wore aged tweeds and a battered felt hat which was generally over one ear. A spare knitting-needle of a horribly bright pink was thrust into a thick disordered fuzz of hair. Once almost too golden, it was now in a streaky half-way stage which probably went better with the freckled skin, light eyes, and wide genial mouth. The tweeds were, or had been, a regrettable mustard. She would have been the first to admit that they clashed with the room. It would have been quite in character if she had said, “But just think of a room that wouldn’t clash with me!”