There was a bombing plane flying low overhead. For a minute or two it seemed to be keeping pace with the train. Two vulgar kind of blokes in shabby overcoats, obviously ercials of the lowest type, neer vassers probably, were sitting opposite me. One of them was reading the Mail and the other was reading the Express. I could see by their mahat they’d spotted me for one of their kind. Up at the other end of the carriage two lawyers’ clerks with black bags were keeping up a versation full of legal balohat was meant to impress the rest of us and show that they didn’t belong to the on herd.
I was watg the backs of the houses sliding past. The line from West Bletchley runs most of the way through slums, but it’s kind of peaceful, the glimpses you get of little backyards with bits of flowers stu boxes and the flat roofs where the women peg out the washing and the bird-cage on the wall. The great blabing plane swayed a little in the air and zoomed ahead so ……（内容加载失败！）
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