Chapter 5: The Parlour—GeorgeGeorge didn’t know what to say now his inadvertent guest was actually fit to make conversation with. He was still trembling faintly, but that could just be residual shock…or hunger.
“Do you want some toast?” he offered. “I usually have a piece at this time of night.”
Tollingham looked at him warily. “I don’t have a ration book,” he said, finally.
“It’s fine,” George assured him. “I’ve got plenty. I’ve got a huge crop of potatoes at the moment, so I’m eating more of them than anything else.”
“Then, yes. Please. I’d be very grateful.”
George bustled about with the bread knife and the toaster, digging out some jam from the store in the larder. He glanced at his guest, who was watching him silently, with sleepy, incurious eyes. He’d drunk half his hot drink an
