Stanley. "No, no, let him alone," interposed Wood. Anna opened a cupboard and produced cups and saucers and a tin of coffee. With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. “How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way. It was ten feet long, a relic.
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