Am I the only one who is curious to look over her shoulder & read the book of a lady who's on page 128 of her paperback book? Wouldn't your curiosity nudge you beyond the bounds of unwritten social codes of conduct?
I could get my own copy & start from the start, but somehow it seems more interesting to join in where she happens to be, here, as we pass Finsbury Park station on the somewhat crowded train to Kings Cross.
The sky is unusually bright and light blue, with only whispy hints of cottoncandy-like clouds on the other side of our speeding train's window.
Now another woman has sat down in our carriage, & I'll be much less conspicuous if I look at her book as she is Right Next to me.
Oops, I tried to snatch a glance (I only wanted to see the title!) & she immediately drew her paperback into her, like a vulnerable child needing protecting from a worringly weird stranger and his (my) rude, prying, eyes.
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