Passage A
　　I was walking along the deserted main street of a small seaside town in the north of England looking somewhere to make a phone call．My car had broken down outside the town and I wanted to get in touch with the Automobile Association．Low gray clouds were drifting across the sky and there was a cold damp wind blowing off the sea．It had rained in the night and water was dripping from the bare trees that lined the street．I was glad that I was wearing a thick coat．
　　I could see no call box, nor was there anyone at that early hour I could ask．I had thought I might find a shop selling the Sunday papers or a milkman doing his job, but the town was completely dead．
　　Then suddenly I found what I was looking for．There was a small post office, and almost hidden from sight in a dark narrow street next to it was the town's only public call box, which badly needed a coat of paint, I hurried forward but stopped in astonishment when I saw through the dirty glass that there was a man inside．He was very fat, and was wearing a cheap blue plastic raincoat and rubber boots．I could not see his face - he was bending forward over the phone with his back pressed against the glass and didn't even raise his head at the sound of my coming nearer and nearer．Carefully and surprisedly, I remained standing a few feet away and lit a cigarette to wait my turn．It was when I threw the dead match on the ground that I noticed something bright red trickling from under the call box door．