by Zoë Brigley Thompson
A girl sits on the edge of the platform at Maesteg. She is at the far end, a little apart from the crowds of children on the station, and her legs hang off the platform edge. She is wearing a thick coat over her grammar school uniform, a beret on the back of her head. In her gloved hands is a square, green, cardboard ticket. Her legs are covered by woollen tights, but the cold from the stone platform is inching through her skirt.
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