She gave me tea made with tepid water and talked about the Earl's Court Exhibition, which she had not visited, and a new novel, of which she had vaguely heard.

I tried in vain to infuse some life into the conversation.

I don't believe she is interested in anything.

She even spoke lukewarmly of Farm Street.
I pity her intensely.

She is thin, thirty, colourless, bosomless.