Breakfast
or Lunch
It
was Sunday. I never get up early on Sundays. I sometimes stay in bed until lunchtime.
Last Sunday I got up very late. I looked out of the window. It was dark
outside. ‘What a day!’ I thought. ‘It’s raining again.’ Just then, the
telephone rang. It was my aunt, Lucy. ‘I’ve just arrived by train,’ she said. ‘I’m
coming to see you.’
‘But
I’m still having breakfast, ‘ I said.
‘What
are you doing?’ she asked.
‘I’m
having breakfast,’ I repeated.
‘Dear me,’ she said. ‘Do
you always get up so late? It’s one o’clock!’
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