Mrs T tries round the back, it's locked, calls out, no effect, clops round the front and flutters the knocker.
Crossley's not concentrating on work but the tapping surprises, it takes a second for the sound to make sense. He creaks to the door.
Would he run them up to the club, you know by the roundabout, Mr T with this heart trouble now, it's alright coming back down, but he can't go up so well, with the hill.
Of course, how soon. Saying it slowly, perhaps he'd been dozing. Now if you can. And Crossley's not poured himself a glass yet, slips on his shoes, grasps unglancing for the keys. Mrs T careful now getting in the back. Are you sure you're ok for getting home.
Just here, we can cross. Thanks thanks. And isn't that reassuring, and Mr T with his heart, to feel she can ask any time, in case.
And how good is that, now he knows, with the old feller having this trouble, that she'll call straight away, I won't be sat there fearful that they'd not call. How would it be if something happened, to have been sat there, and not asked.
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