“It was a phase,” she said. 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 walked with an easy quickness down the Avenue and through the proletarian portion of Morningside Park, and crossing these fields came into a pretty overhung lane that led toward Caddington and the Downs. ” “Isn’t it enough that I love you? Turn me now. The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. You will go to London?” “It is necessary,” she answered.
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