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. “Young lady! Are you sure you’re of legal age to be smoking those cigarettes?” “No, I’m not of legal age. My agent is here, and he has brought his contract for me to sign. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. She followed the landlady half way up-stairs, and called up to Ann Veronica, “May I come up? It’s me! You know—Nettie Miniver!” She appeared before Ann Veronica could clearly recall who Nettie Miniver might be. “I must live, you know.
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