There were no shops on this wide street that he was walking along, only a line of tall houses on each side, all of them identical. 
He found the guest book lying open on the piano, so he took out his pen and wrote down his name and address. There were only two other entries above his on the page
Suddenly, in a downstairs window that was brilliantly illuminated by a street lamp not six yards away, Billy caught sight of a printed notice propped up against the glass in one of the upper panes. It said BED AND BREAKFAST.
He pressed the bell. the door swung open and a woman was standing there.  She was about forty-five or fifty years old, and the moment she saw him, she gave him a warm, welcoming smile. “Please come in,” she said pleasantly. She stepped aside, holding the door wide open, and Billy found himself automatically starting forward. The compulsion or, more accurately, the desire to follow after her into that house was extraordinarily strong.
“Here’s your room. I do hope you’ll like it.” She took him into a small but charming front bedroom, switching on the light as she went in. But before you go to bed, would you be kind enough to pop into the sitting room on the ground floor and sign the book?
He crossed the room slowly and sat down on the edge of the sofa. She placed his teacup on the table in front of him.
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