it fell steadily on the grey slate roofs , filling up the drainpipes and emptying out into the street , it trickled down the window panes , shut tight , closed to the outside world , it gathered on the sills and dripped into the cottage gardens , soaking the rows of dahlias and roses , it blew up the hill , past the village shop , with its red victorian post box set deep into the wall , it lashed at a last minute shopper , flattening her hair into wet , lank streaks , pulling at her raincoat and running down her wet stockings onto her sodden shoes .