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Books for Sale |
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In his room over the Blackbird bookshop Nicholas lay on the floor doing his Cicely Berry voice exercises. He did them night and morning without fail, however late he was getting up or getting in. He had reached the lip and tongue movements, and rat-a-tat sounds filled the room. Fortunately the neighbours on both sides (Brown's the funeral parlour and a butcher's) were past caring about noise. Nicholas had been born nineteen years ago and brought up in a village midway between Causton and Slough. At school he had been regarded as just above average. Moderately good at games, moderately good at lessons and, as he was also blessed with an amiable disposition, moderately good at making friends. He had been in the upper sixth and thinking vaguely of some sort of future in a bank or on the management side of industry when something happened which for ever changed his life. One of the texts for his English A level was A Midsummer Night's Dream. A performance of the play by the Royal Shakespeare Company was booked to take place in the vast gymnasium of Nicholas' comprehensive. |