Good evening. Welcome to the Just Sleep podcast. I'm Tasia, your host.

Every week, I will read you an old story to help you relax of the stressful day behind you and drift off to sleep.

Occasionally, we will run ads in order to cover the costs of the production of the podcast.

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Tonight, I would be reading a short story by Catherine Mansfield,

the tiredness of Rosabelle.

So lie down, close your eyes, and let me read you a story.

At the corner of Oxford Circus, Rosabelle bought a bunch of violets, and that was practically

the reason why she had so little tea, for scone and a boiled

egg and a cup of cocoa at Lyon, are not ample sufficiency after Hardee's work in a millinery.

As she swung on to the step of the Atlas bus, grabbed her skirt with one hand and clung to the railing with the other.

Rosebel thought she would have sacrificed her soul for a good dinner, roast duck and green peas, chestnut stuffing, pudding with brandy sauce, something hot and strong and filling.

She sat down next to a girl very much her own age who was reading Anna Lombard in a cheap

paper-covered edition, and the rain had tear-spattered the pages.

Rosebell looked out of the windows.

The street was blurred and misty, but light striking on the panes turned their dullness to opal and silver, and the jeweller's shops seen through this were fairy palaces.

Her feet were horribly wet, and she knew the bottom of her skirt and petticoat would be coated with black, greasy mud.

There was a sickening smell of warm humanity.

It seemed to be oozing out of everybody in the bus, and everybody had the same expression sitting so still, staring in front of them. How many times had you read these advertisements?

Sapolio saves time, saves labour, Heinz's tomato sauce,

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