Some more citizens arrived.
“No bones broken,” reported Mrs. Porter, concluding her examination. “You are exceedingly fortunate. You have a few bruises, and one knee is slightly wrenched. Nothing to signify. More frightened than hurt. Where do you live?”
“There,” said George meekly.
“Where?”
“Them studios.”
“No. 90?”
“Yes, ma’am.” George’s voice was that of a crushed worm.
“Are you an artist?”
“No, ma’am. I’m Mr. Winfield’s man.”
“Whose?”