“You were there, were you?” He laughed a little impatiently. In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. He rose at once to his feet and turned a white face upon her. A thin mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly look.
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