Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. He had gained admission somehow, and he too was waiting for Anna. His complexion was pale; and there was something sinister in the expression of his large black eyes. “It is, if anything, a little above the average,” Brendon admitted. No work that offered was at all of the quality she had vaguely postulated for herself. YOU did. . ’ His eyes found the girl again, and he added rancorously, ‘Giving birth to you. Again silence.
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