We all went to see them off — the bicycles were somewhere at the back of the house. On the way, we passed through a storeroom where enormous hams were hanging. “Old Mr. Cotton sent us one of those every Christmas,” said Thomas. “Only he was dead last Christmas.” Neil reached up and took the largest ham off its hook. “There you are, Tommy,” he said. “Oh, Thomas, you can’t!” I began — but I didn’t want Neil to call me Great-Aunt Cassandra so I finished up: “Well, I suppose you have.” And I certainly would have fainted with despair if Thomas had refused the ham. In the end, I undertook to bring
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