The arrested women were herded in a passage of the Panton Street Police-station that opened upon a cell too unclean for occupation, and most of them spent the night standing. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. He was a London man of business, spending a small legacy in Paris. “I should like to speak to you for a few minutes,” he said to Anna, dropping his voice a little. She would be extraordinarily interesting as a metaphysical study.
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