The market square, its gutters rushing with water, was as empty as a hosed-out fish barrel. In the streets one met only a few housewives hastening between the shops, their brightly coloured plastic macs glistening under advanced umbrellas. It was dark, too. The shops had on all the lights in their display windows, usually switched off during the day. Near St Margaret’s Church, where there were no shops worth speaking of, a murky gloom seemed to have settled among the buildings. As for the pigeons … who knew where they went on a day like this? Probably they had long since congregated in Fuller’s mill, taking charge of one forgotten corner or another. Gently, who could rarely be bothered with such things, had been obliged to accept the offer of a car. It had stood most of the morning among the puddles in the mill yard, getting in the way of the lorries which came in for loading. Then it had disappeared, not long before lunch, going back in the town direction.
