From the Grove I realize that I am on a level with the stations clock, which I can see and which nowadays tells the right time.
The sound of visitors being greeted as I pass an open front door, where two or three people in overcoats are bunching before going in. "Lovely to meet you," says a woman's voice. In the backgound is a man with a friendly, smiling face.
Sprays of broom with buds like yellow scales.
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