The door closed softly upon her. She had looked up from her seat at the small round table in the centre of the parlour which, together with the wooden armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a sideboard next the single casement, was all the furniture the place afforded. Ennison spoke at last. During the week, her uniform was the blue and white scrubs of a nurse, the job she had suffered at for twenty-seven years. Mr. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. What was the matter with the dress? She could not see.
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