In London at dusk, William Rosenberg waited in Regent’s Park, by the rowboats at the Boating Lake. Waterfowl swam at their leisure despite the chilling wind, unaware of the escalating war.
A man with heavy eyebrows and yellow teeth sauntered over to William. He stomped his feet at the ducks sitting in the grass. They waddled off, quacking in fright.
“I hate ducks. They’re so useless,” the man commented.
“They taste good,” William said.
The man nodded. “So, do you have the stuff?”
William pulled the bacon, butter, and sugar food ration books from under his jacket.
“Well, you’re a regular Harrods, ain’t you, mate?” The man smiled his yellow-toothed grin as he took the stolen ration books. He slipped William the money, and William took off briskly through the gardens, as if he were out for a vigorous evening stroll.
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