Explore "Number Three, Winifred Place" by Agnes Giberne on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"THERE'S a ring at the door! I shouldn't wonder if it was somebody after lodgings! Look sharp, will you, Bertha, and don't go to sleep on the way. I never in all my life saw such a dawdle as that girl," concluded Mrs. Burrell.
It was a dismal afternoon in November. No actual rain had fallen since early morning, but the air reeked with damp, the sky was shut off by a dense haze overhead, and slush lay thickly on roads and pavements, while the thermometer stood at only one degree above freezing-point. Foot-passengers were hurrying to and fro, with a very evident dislike of the outer atmosphere, a very plain intention to get quickly through their divers businesses.