“My darling!” he said, clasping her resolutely in his arms, “my dearest!” “Mr. Drummond,” he continued, looking across at his vis-à-vis, “we look to you to give expression to our sentiments. 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. She got up and unlocked the door. Lucy could see Diane’s clear dislike of her, the foster background she had come from, and the single mysterious episode with the police that had inflamed the gossips from all the corners of town. ‘Believe it or not, I do it for pleasure.
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