taking a squint with these glasses at your old dad every now and again."

   "It's a good thing we haven't had any crime waves, I dare say," said Myrtle. "Not even any poaching to speak of, not since Wal Simes' dad passed on, which you aren't old enough to remember by a good few years.  I don't know what you find to keep you occupied, I honestly don't."

     Constable Perry picked up the glasses from the office counter again and went outside onto the concrete apron in front of the station in silence.  The sun was going down.

     "What's he doing now?" Myrtle demanded, following him.

   "Still walking about," John Perry said.   "He's over by the bench now, nothing to bother about.   He'll be down in a bit, he can't stay up there for ever, can he?"

                                                   *      *      *

     Seeing her there on the old bench, with its rusty wrought iron arms and polished slats from which the paint had long gone, Jim Whalley felt no surprise.   Just seeing her there, young as she was, tiny as she was, pretty as  

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