13/19 You were a different sort of woman when you first came." "Yes," she admitted, "I was a different sort of woman." "You don't remember those days, I suppose," he went on, "the days when you had brown hair, when you used to carry roses about and sing to yourself while you beat your work out of that wretched typewriter ?" "No," she answered, "I do not remember those days. It is some other woman you are thinking of." Their eyes met. Mr.Fentolin turned away first. He struck the bell at his elbow. |