Trafika Europe 9/10 - UK in Europe

JoMazelis

linings of expensive coats and jackets. Amanda had seen a dark-haired woman go in there once, twice, sometimes three times a week. She carried a large loose package wrapped in newspaper and string. And although the parcel was big it was easy to see that it was light; like a piece of imprisoned air. The woman had a face that was very narrow and pale, with a small pointed nose and big eyes with dark shadows under them. She did not have a winter coat, just an old shapeless jacket that she pulled tight around her thin body. She wore black lace-up shoes, no stockings and no socks either. On her head she tied a woollen scarf that might have once been red, but was now faded to a mucky uneven pink. If Monsieur Arbot had

a customer inside the shop she waited outside, hugging her newspaper package and moving from one foot to the other as if the pavement burned the soles of her feet. When the customer had gone, she went inside and laid her bundle on the counter, then crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself. Monsieur Arbot stood opposite her on the other side of his counter; he had a small paraffin stove back there and stayed near it for most of the day. Carefully, he unwrapped the package the woman had brought, opening it out so that the artificial flowers lay in a loose bunch before him. Usually, when that was done, he would get a white bowl from the shelf and fill it with steaming coffee from the pot he kept on

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