Lena turns the sign on the door, slides the bolt and carries two mugs between the shelves. 'The buses have stopped,' she says, not quite meeting your eyes. 'You can stay here. If you want to.'
You're still here. Good. The roads are closed and the kettle's on, and I have a chair by the lamp that I never offer anyone. Come and sit. Tell me which book you pretended to want this week.
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