His hair had begun to gray, his belly had just begun to round. But he knew. He had reacted by pushing her away, disgust and frustration on his face. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. The next moment, an exclamation was heard in the voice of Thames. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. ‘Why have you come in here?’ demanded Melusine, turning on him.
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