He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. They were going up the slope into Waterloo Station. ” She stared hard at her finger-nails. “If I had three hands,” she said, with a faint smile, “I would give one to each of you. “I don’t know where to go to. She mounted the stairs of the theatrical agent’s office with very much less than her usual buoyancy, nor did she find much encouragement in the general appearance of the room into which she was shown.
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