‘Half-past six,’ I answered.
'It's getting near that now, isn't it?' she said. We both knew that it was only twenty to six, but I was ready to go.
'Yes. Time for me to go,' I said, and I looked round for my schoolbag. But just then we heard a door close. Someone was coming upstairs. I looked up and saw that Pat was really unhappy. She gave me my bag, and I could see that she wanted me to leave quickly. But it was too late. The door opened and a woman came in. Behind her there was a little boy of about five. The boy was tired, the woman looked only half alive. She stood there in her old cheap clothes, her face grey and empty. The face of a person who could no longer fight, or laugh, or hope. She was about thirty-five, but she looked like an old, old woman.