The place had a quaint foreign flavour. Tiny cafes,
filled with smoke and noise, and clean, inviting restaurants abounded.
She was feeling hungry, and, choosing one the door of which stood open,
revealing white tablecloths and a pleasant air of cheerfulness, she
entered. It was late and the tables were crowded. Only at one, in a far
corner, could she detect a vacant place, opposite to a slight, pretty-
looking girl very quietly dressed. She made her way across and the girl,
anticipating her request, welcomed her with a smile. They ate for a
while in silence, divided only by the narrow table, their heads, when
they leant forward, almost touching. Joan noticed the short, white
hands, the fragrance of some delicate scent. There was something odd
about her. She seemed to be unnecessarily conscious of being alone.
Suddenly she spoke.
"Nice little restaurant, this," she said. "One of the few places where
you can depend upon not being annoyed."
Joan did not understand. "In what way?" she asked.
"Oh, you know, men," answered the girl. "They come and sit down opposite
to you, and won't leave you alone.
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