Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat. She answered weakly, “I’m fine, John. He put an arm around her. We simply can’t get away. The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. 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.
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