The street was
silent, barely a light peeped through the blackout curtains. None of the street
lights were on with the blackout, save one down at the T-junction with
Whitechapel Road. It was quarter-strength at best. An old soldier with his
matches tray stood next to it. With the bombing, day workers were already home,
ready for another night in the bomb shelter. Few people went out or socialised at night. Dedicated drinkers were already settled in their
pub, still a few hours before the rush home at closing time.
Good luck on your book! We will be sure to help you promote it!
ReplyDeleteMany thanks for your support.
DeleteMany thanks for your support.
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