![]() ‘The postmark says Berwick-upon-Tweed.’Įnvelope. They both looked at the letter as if they had never seen one before. He didn ’t know what she meant until she slid an envelope across the table, and stopped it just short of Harold’s elbow. To watch her neat frame collapse into unruly happiness. When they first met, nothing had pleased him more than to make her laugh. Maureen was a slight woman with a cap of silver hair and a brisk walk. The vacuum tumbled into silence, and his wife appeared, looking cross, with a letter. ‘Post!’ He thought he might like to go out, but the only thing to do was mow the lawn and he had done that yesterday. ![]() ‘Harold!’ called Maureen above the vacuum cleaner. He gazed beyond the kitchen window at the clipped lawn, which was spiked in the middle by Maureen ’s telescopic washing line, an d trapped on all three sides by the neighbours’ closeboard fencing. Harold Fry sat at the breakfast table, freshly shaved, in a clean shirt and tie, with a slice of toast that he wasn’t eating. It was an ordinary morning in mid-April that smelt of clean washing and grass cuttings. That would change everything arrived on a Tuesday. ![]()
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