deserted； like an empty prison waiting the return of tramping
feet。
Ursula went forward to the teachers' room that burrowed in a
gloomy hole。 She knocked timidly。
〃e in！〃 called a surprised man's voice； as from a prison
cell。 She entered the dark little room that never got any sun。
The gas was lighted naked and raw。 At the table a thin man in
shirt…sleeves was rubbing a paper on a jellytray。 He looked up
at Ursula with his narrow； sharp face； said 〃Good morning；〃 then
turned away again； and stripped the paper off the tray； glancing
at the violet…coloured writing transferred； before he dropped
the curled sheet aside among a heap。
Ursula watched him fascinated。 In the gaslight and gloom and
the narrowness of the room； all seemed unreal。
〃Isn't it a nasty morning；〃 she said。
〃Yes；〃 he said； 〃it's not much of weather。〃
But in here it seemed that neither morning nor weather really
existed。 This place was timeless。 He spoke in an occupied voice；
like an echo。 Ursula did not know what to say。 She took off her
waterproof。
〃Am I early？〃 she asked。
The man looked first at a little clock； then at her。 His eyes
seemed to be sharpened to needle…points of vision。
〃Twenty…five past；〃 he said。 〃You're the second to e。 I'm
first this morning。〃
Ursula sat down gingerly on the edge of a chair； and watched
his th