She could not tell her brother about last night, not in the letter and not when she got home. It was to difficult to say how she came to bed in a man’s room – an unknown man, a dead man. Or about getting under his bed. Or about opening the door with his knife. Her brother always felt unhappy if anything unusual happened to her. It was much better not to say anything. She put on her hat and coat and went out to send the letter. The sun was warm. It was good to walk in the streets. There were a lot of people in the cafes, laughing, talking moving about. They were so different from the people in Easingstoke. It was exciting to be in France.
I was in a Frenchman’s bedroom all last night,’ she suddenly thought. She smiled.
Miss Bracegirdle walked more quickly to the letter-box to send her letter. Her face was a little red but perhaps only because it was a warm day. She put her letter in the box and waited to hear it fall inside. It fell. So that was that. She turned and went to meet her sister off the boat from South America.
