The season was ripe for mating, she thought to herself bitterly. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. It reached her only slowly that Ann Veronica was standing to her resolution. There was no one at all in this room, but through the half-open door of one of the small apartments that gave upon it she had a glimpse of two very young girls sitting at a littered table and writing briskly. Piano wire, stained with black rust from the horrible deeds she had committed. The other individual, who was a little in advance, was concealed from the stranger's view.
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