Here was an academic-looking lady absorbed in some papers on the Tube. Very much a British type – perhaps an English type: sober, dressed in browns and greys. Flat, sensible shoes. Perhaps a flat, sensible life. But also a friendly, intelligent face.
The sort of lady I might have met after one of the Family Services of my childhood, standing about at the back of a chilly church among the musty scent of ancient choir robes, drinking coffee that came out of a fat steel urn into pale blue cups, perched on pale blue saucers. Rich Tea and Nice biscuits. She was a Rich Tea and Nice biscuit sort of lady.
