that she’d used sticky tape to address the situation, then disguised it beneath a woollen bonnet.
“I hate the cold and wet,” added Mrs Elm, for emphasis.
Mrs Elm had short grey hair and a kind and mildly crinkled oval face sitting pale above her turtle-green polo neck.
She was quite old. But she was also the person most on Nora’s wavelength in the entire school,
and even on days when it wasn’t raining she would spend her afternoon break in the small library.
“Coldness and wetness don’t always go together,” Nora told her.
“Antarctica is the driest continent on Earth. Technically, it’s a desert.”
“Well, that sounds up your street.” “I don’t think it’s far enough away.”
“Well, maybe you should be an astronaut. Travel the galaxy.”
Nora smiled. “The rain is even worse on other planets.”
“Worse than Bedfordshire?” “On Venus it is pure acid.”
Mrs Elm pulled a paper tissue from her sleeve and delicately blew her nose.
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