She followed the landlady half way up-stairs, and called up to Ann Veronica, “May I come up? It’s me! You know—Nettie Miniver!” She appeared before Ann Veronica could clearly recall who Nettie Miniver might be. You mustn't go by what you read so much as by what you see and hear. But I said I wouldn't drive a hard bargain with you, and I won't. As she started, rearing up her head, a hand stole about her mouth and closed down hard. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay.
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