No sooner had I crossed their threshold than my eyes were riveted to a young blueeyed beauty with waves of flaxen hair cascading down her white and blue ski jacket.
Morning came slowly with a pale yellow light. The train was slowing down as it came into the town of La Crosse where the three soldiers would get off the train. The station was empty because it was Sunday.
Harry stretched out his hand at last to take the yellowish envelope, addressed in emerald green. To Mr. H. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea.