CHAPTER ONE<br > The second-class carriage was half empty. There was no<br > reason why the sandy-haired man with the canvas zip-bag<br > should have chosen to sit down facing Charlotte when there<br > were so many other empty seats. She was afraid that he<br > would turn out to be one of the people who like to talk in<br > trains. She， herself， in the mood that she was in that day，<br > was not one of them. As he pushed his bag into the luggage<br > rack， took off his overcoat， rolled it into a bundle on the<br > seat beside him and sat down， she turned a page of the pa-<br > perback that she had bought at the Paddington bookstall<br > and made it plain that she intended to read.<br > It did not put him off. "Miserable day，" he said cheer-<br > fully.<br > "Yes，" she agreed without looking up.<br > "The forecast said there d be snow in the north."<br > "Did it?"<br > "Not that they often get it right， but it s cold enough." He<br > had brought a couple of newspapers with him， but he laid<br >- them down on the table before him and showed no sign of<br > wanting to read. "Arid as usual， when it s cold， something<br > seems to have gone wrong with the heating in here. Have<br > you noticed how that always happens? On a pleasant warm<br > day they boil you alive， but as soon as the temperature<br > drops， they make a point of turning all the heat off. Luckily，<br > I m not going far， only to Mattingley， That s just about an<br > hour and a quarter from here. Do you know Mattingley?"<br >
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