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. There were white men with families, a fine mission-house, and a club-house for cards and billiards. ‘Indeed?’ Gerald said politely. ” “Shirts?” “Shirts at one—and—something a dozen. "No such thing," rejoined Thames. ” A fair-haired young Englishman looked up from the depths of his easy chair.
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