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. And there was that dress of hers! She must be warned that she had been imposed upon. “Just seems like a nice place to get away to, especially since it seems to attract pretty girls. Fly! they shall knock me on the head—curse 'em!—before they shall touch you. How are you?” “I’m fine,” she said, unaware of all events except for the voice on the other line.
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