Lorna

It was Thursday evening. Fires were burning in the dining-room and drawing-room. Lorna’s room was all ready, with big vases of golden and red chrysanthemums in every available place. Supper had been laid and Kit was vibrating between the kitchen and front door…

when the quarter-hour chimes from the drawing-room clock, she gave it up, and went to fill the kettle and put the treacle tart into the oven. Half-past sounded, and still the travellers had not come. A quarter-to-eight – eight – and still they did not come.

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A 1940s book by Elinor Brent-Dyer full of suet pudding and jam, civics classes and slow train journeys through the snow. Total catnip for those who are missing The Crown.

 

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