Explore "The Postmaster of Market Deignton" by E. Phillips Oppenheim on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Monday morning dawns upon a slow, constant downpour of rain. The grey clouds are thick and low, and the rain descends in a hopelessly straight manner, which leaves no room for doubt as to the prospects of the day.
Already as I sit at breakfast there are large puddles in the marketplace, and a perfect little torrent rushes along the gutter by the side of the path. The grey-and brown-fronted houses have a soaked and washed appearance. There is not a soul in sight. Evidently I shall have plenty of leisure to-day.