’ Chapter Nine As she devoured the simple meal of bread and cheese, and several slices of cold roast beef, the whole washed down with a poor sort of coffee, Melusine listened with avid interest to the details of her mother’s life as revealed by the exclamatory conversation of Joan Ibstock. "The poor things!" The manager laughed. “That is where I got confused,” he said. He kept his keen eyes steadily fixed on Thames, as if awaiting to be addressed. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping.
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