In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. ” “Cooped up!” he cried. "My mother!—my poor mother!" ejaculated Thames, falling on his knees, and bursting into tears. Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. “We’re here to take your foster daughter down to the station to ask her a few questions sir.
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