Mr and Mrs Beresford were sitting at the breakfast table. They were an ordinary couple. Hundreds of
elderly couples just like them were having breakfast all over England at that particular moment. It was
an ordinary sort of day too, the kind of day that you get five days out of seven. It looked as though it
might rain but wasn't quite sure of it.
Mr Beresford had once had red hair. There were traces of the red still, but most of it had gone that
sandy - cum - grey colour that redheaded people so often arrive at in middle life.