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. ’ ‘Damnation!’ ‘What the devil ails you?’ demanded his friend, striding forward. The weather's been foul enough for the last fortnight, but I've never turned my back upon it. “Why destroy me, child? There are so many secrets I 231 could tell you. I do not know how I shall get it, but I must, you understand. He was so depressed and disheartened that he did not then believe he would ever write again. Not us.
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