The same woman, drenched, refusing to be beaten by the weather.

Everything in the frame was identical.

Except the man watching it.

That man was not throwing anything out of a window.

I opened my golf umbrella and crossed to them and held it over Lucy and the old woman both.

“Get under the awning,” I said.

“Before you catch cold.

I’ll flag the cab.” And I stepped into the street and hailed it, and I got the elderly woman settled and dry and sent on her way, and then Lucy and I were left standing together under the canvas awning of a shuttered shop, listening to the rain come down on the pavement.