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Who: Lucy and a random telegram delivery boy
When: 15 May 1941, supper time
What: Receiving a telegram
Rating: PG
It was just before six. The springtime sky was still light, but it would be growing dark soon. Lucy had just made a pot of tea to go with her cut of fried bread -- she was hardly every hungry anymore and lived off of tea, liquor, and cigarettes. She had just taken a seat on the sofa with the wireless when the doorbell rang. She had no idea who it could be; she wasn't expecting any visitors. Opening the door revealed a young dark-haired boy, no more than fifteen, beads of sweat on his pimply forehead.
"Lucy Thatcher?" he asked, his accent thick.
"Yes?"
"Un télégramme de Londres." He handed her a small white paper.
"Un moment," Lucy said, reaching for her small purse and digging for the fee. "Ici, et un petit supplément." She made sure to give a small tip. The boy thanked her before heading back down the stairs to the street below.
She assumed it had to be something from the office. She didn't know anyone else in London, especially after the last attack. Who could possibly be sending a telegram? With slightly shaking fingers, the blonde opened the small paper.
When: 15 May 1941, supper time
What: Receiving a telegram
Rating: PG
It was just before six. The springtime sky was still light, but it would be growing dark soon. Lucy had just made a pot of tea to go with her cut of fried bread -- she was hardly every hungry anymore and lived off of tea, liquor, and cigarettes. She had just taken a seat on the sofa with the wireless when the doorbell rang. She had no idea who it could be; she wasn't expecting any visitors. Opening the door revealed a young dark-haired boy, no more than fifteen, beads of sweat on his pimply forehead.
"Lucy Thatcher?" he asked, his accent thick.
"Yes?"
"Un télégramme de Londres." He handed her a small white paper.
"Un moment," Lucy said, reaching for her small purse and digging for the fee. "Ici, et un petit supplément." She made sure to give a small tip. The boy thanked her before heading back down the stairs to the street below.
She assumed it had to be something from the office. She didn't know anyone else in London, especially after the last attack. Who could possibly be sending a telegram? With slightly shaking fingers, the blonde opened the small paper.
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