From the adjacent lavatory came sounds of splashing
and spluttering, and the busy street far below sent up its
confused noises.
Two persons only sat at the desks. One was a hunger-bitten, out-
of-work clerk, evidently engaged in replying to advertisements;
in front of him lay two or three finished letters, and on the
ground at his feet were several crumpled sheets of note-paper,
representing abortive essays in composition. The other man, also
occupied with the pen, looked about forty years old, and was clad
in a very rusty suit of tweeds; on the bench beside him lay a
grey overcoat and a silk hat which had for some time been
moulting. His face declared the habit to which he was a victim,
but it had nothing repulsive in its lineaments and expression; on
the contrary, it was pleasing, amiable, and rather quaint. At
this moment no one would have doubted his sobriety. With
coat-sleeve turned back, so as to give free play to his right
hand and wrist, revealing meanwhile a flannel shirt of singular
colour, and with his collar unbuttoned (he wore no tie) to leave
his throat at ease as he bent myopically over the paper, he was
writing at express speed, evidently in the full rush of the
ardour of composition.
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