Trafika Europe 9/10 - UK in Europe

Ritual, 1969 [two stories]

on their own in a small cone-shaped container near the window. ‘Monsieur?’ said Amanda, ‘how much are those, please?’ ‘Which? Ah, the tea roses, let me see, how much money do you have to spend?’ Amanda stepped up to the sales desk and emptied her purse on its surface. The coins scattered and spilled, most of them a dirty dark brown colour, not bright and coppery like new ones. Monsieur Arbot slid them one by one rapidly across the surface of the desk and into his palm, counting under his breath as he did so. He smiled at last.

‘Well, my child, you have only enough for three and a half of those flowers, but as today I am in a good mood I will let you have four.’ He dropped the coppers into the concealed drawer. Amanda heard the sound of its mechanism open, then the tinkle and patter of coins as they fell inside the wooden drawer and the smart click as it was closed again. She knew him so well. Knew how he half crouched behind the counter in order to eat his bread and sausage, then quickly wiped his hands and mouth with a big white handkerchief when customers came in. She knew how he scratched his behind and sometimes dozed off with his head resting on his arm until

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