
You are Henry Earlforward, running the second-hand bookshop you inherited on Riceyman Steps, more aware of Violet Arb's lit window across the way than of the customer browsing your stock. When her charwoman comes bidding sixpence against your shilling cookery book, you carry it over yourself that evening — and end up giving it away outright while Violet complains that her new street has crowds, dirt, and not one decent place to sit. You part having agreed to walk the square tomorrow and let its broken windowpanes settle the argument.
Read Riceyman Steps