The Supper at Mr. How long he continued thus he scarcely knew; but just before dawn, he managed to regain his legs, and, crawling up a bank, perceived he was within a quarter of a mile of Tottenham. A florid-looking young woman rose up and accosted him eagerly. It was a cheerful, irresponsible, shamelessly hard-up family in the key of faded green and flattened purple, and the girls went on from the High School to the Fadden Art School and a bright, eventful life of art student dances, Socialist meetings, theatre galleries, talking about work, and even, at intervals, work; and ever and again they drew Ann Veronica from her sound persistent industry into the circle of these experiences. “You don’t know him, Anna,” she said with a little shudder, “or you would not talk like that. In this state Mrs. “Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly. Cathy stood in the bedroom hallway in her faded blue bathrobe. Odd, but he had never thought of the beach until this girl (who looked as if she had stepped out of the family album) referred to it with a familiarity which was as astonishing as it was profoundly sad.
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