You see, it's like this. 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 seemed to stay away from her because she was so cold and formal towards him, addressing him as Mister McCloskey as if she were an Irish maid. “I want to ask you a question,” she said abruptly. He blushed furiously; it was not what he had expected to hear. CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. She gained her room, and slammed her door and locked it as though she feared violence and pursuit.
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