- I went to the shop on Monday morning.
- My favourite colour is purple.
- The house was creaky, old and damp, but I wasn’t scared.
- It was a cold, rainy day. They’re safe in their car.
- “He’s my favourite”, Mum said.
I could picture the smooth oval of Laura’s face, her neatly pinned chignon, the dress she would have been wearing: a shirtwaist with a small round collar in a sobre colour; navy blue, steel grey or hospital-corridor green. Penitential colours: less like something she’d chosen to put on than like something she’d would have be locked up in.
“He was such a miserable specimen”, the children said, all humps and hollos. He couldn’t play cricket, he poked and he shuffle. “He was a sarcastic brute”, Andrew said. They knew what he liked best – to be forever walking up and down, up and down with Mr Ramsay, say who had won this and who had won that.
He suddenly leaned forward, putting his arm on the table, as though to get the iron out, by god, but Franny spoke up before he did. “I’m lousy today”, she said.
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