Pierre stumbled downstairs. The knocking on his shop door was insistent.
‘I’m coming! I’m coming! Keep your shirt on,’ he cried.
She was leaning against the wall, shoulders hunched forward as she gasped for breath, her clothing in disarray.
At the end of the street the rabble’s uproar was swelling.
‘You’ve got to let me in.’
‘No got to about it. I don’t know you from Adam…or Eve,’ he replied.
‘Oh I think you do.’ She was more composed now. She looked him straight in the eye.
‘Don’t you remember when I had to validate who you were?’
(Apologies but I can’t get this post to indent!)
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