The stamp shop opened while the kettle on the back shelf was still practicing its one polite whistle. Rubber stamps lined up along the blotter, each with a napkin no bigger than a postage stamp, and dabbed their edges until the envelope on the counter gave a small nod.
We asked the keeper, who keeps a spare ink pad in a biscuit tin labeled after lunch. "They are not in a hurry," she said. "The napkin is only a hello. One circle is plenty if the letter has been greeted first."
In the little book by the till someone had written, in handwriting as round as a well-inked O: "The brown envelope waited, and the circle sat down neatly. Please do not skip the wipe. — a grateful birthday card."