I went at last when I had barely a shilling in my purse to a dramatic agent. She was sorry for his liking her too much for his own good, but her need was too desperate to cavil at turning it to useful account. A woman’s shoe lay on the threadbare carpeting. Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. It was not until the morning of the fifth day that the constant vigil was broken. The hotel manager was expostulating and Ah Cum was replying by a series of expressive shrugs. Promise me that you will not disobey the injunctions of her whose memory we must both of us ever revere.
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