Explore "Girl" by O. Henry on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
In gilt letters on the ground glass of the door of room No. 962 were the words: "Robbins & Hartley, Brokers. " The clerks had gone. It was past five, and with the solid tramp of a drove of prize Percherons, scrub-women were invading the cloud-capped twenty-story office building. A puff of red-hot air flavoured with lemon peelings, soft-coal smoke and train oil came in through the half-open windows.
Robbins, fifty, something of an overweight beau, and addicted to first nights and hotel palm-rooms, pretended to be envious of his partner's commuter's joys.