It felt like he hadn’t seen her smile for three years. Since the government had placed a ban on crumpets, her days never seemed to set off to the kind of start that they used to, by why should he deserve to get the brunt of her dissatisfaction? 

“I think I can get a hold of some,” the stout fellow tried to whisper but failed emphatically. 

 “You can?” Keeping up a calm outer appearance, Edward’s sharp intake of breath betrayed him. This could be the breakthrough that that lady who mooched around his house really needed. 

7 am. The door rattled and Edward raced to open it before his wife heard. Stout Sam stood there, breathless. He handed over a brown paper bag containing one precious crumpet.

“Don’t burn the blasted thing,” he mouthed.