'Look here,' he said a little nervously. 'I don't know whether you're busy after hours, but perhaps you might like to read this.' The wrinkles in his forehead expanded and dilated a little.
'Oh, thank you so much. I would like to read it,' said Victoria with the ring of earnestness in her voice. She took the book; it was a battered copy of No. 5 John Street.
'No. 5? What a queer title,' she said.
'Queer? not at all,' said Farwell. 'It only seems queer to you because it is natural and you're not used to that. You're a number in the P.R.R. aren't you? Just like the house you live in. And you're just number so and so; so am I. When we die fate shoves up the next number and it all begins over again.'
'That doesn't sound very cheerful, does it?' said Victoria.
'It isn't cheerful. It's merely a fact.'
'I suppose it is,' said Victoria. 'Nobody is ever missed.'
Farwell looked at her critically. The platitude worried him a little; it was unexpected.
'Yes, exactly,' he stammered. 'Anyhow, you read it and let me know what you think of it.' Thereupon he took up another book and began to read.
When he had gone Victoria showed her prize to Betty.