t day I took train to Banbury, to the Banbury herald.

        It o someoo me, o be so ially a large,    cupboard.

        ‘A    Angelfield,“ I explained briefly, ”about sixty years ago.“

        t period were shelved.

        ‘I’ll lift the boxes for you, shall I?“

        ‘And too, from about forty years ago, but I’m not sure which year.“

        ‘Books pages? Didn’t knorieved anot of boxes and placed t one on a long table under a brig.

        ‘t me to it.

        t. It    unon for people to stockpile fuel at time, and it    o take    tal. to be abroad. (Believed to be ... I e of tes—anoto elapse before ts oural significe of t ed t it s current state.

        I copied out tory and sed es but, finding not turo ther boxes.

        ‘tell me trut er for ty years ago. And sten his words.

        trace of tervie could properly be called a books page. terary items at all    like to read…” by a revieo rest on Miss inter’s name in ter’s novels; id just, if unsc it    s t.

        I closed t ly in its box.

        t ion. A device to snare me. ts o dra o be expected. Per ion of tence of Gee and Mat    least    .

        Putting my    and gloves on, I left tepped out into treet.

        As I er streets looking for a cafe, I remembered tter Miss inter    me. I remembered t, and ers of my rooms u t    of ion. I sed it. S soryteller. A fabulist. A liar. And t had so moved me—

        tell me truttered by a man w even real.

        I    a loss to explain to myself tterness of my disappoi.
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