Greg was reminded with a little pang of the other woman who had said that. "I'm a taxi-driver," he replied. "As to common that's not for me to say."
"You speak like an educated man."
He shrugged. "Who are you?" he asked for the second time.
"A prisoner like yourself."
It occurred to him as strange that a prisoner should have been so anxious to keep lights from showing in the windows. "What sort of joint is this anyhow?" he asked.
"Joint?"
"Who are these men? What are they?"
"I don't know. They tell me nothing."
"But if you live here you must hear and see what goes on. What do you make of it?"
"It's politics of some kind," she said vaguely. "I don't understand. How did you happen to come here?"