I and My True Love [antikvár]

CHAPTER II \The sun, cold yellow veiled by grey cloud, freed itself from the mist and reached down to the rain-washed platform. The railway lines, curving, meeting, parting, multiplying, suddenly gleamed against the dark tracks. Sylvia Pleydell shivered at the touch of the chill wind and turned away from the lonely platform with its neatly-spaced little Doric columns supporting its shallow room, from the multitude of railway lines leading to everywhere, leading to nowhere. It's the spring, she thought, as she moved bade into the aowded warmth of the station: it always depresses me now. Or perhaps it is this waiting.Waiting. Waiting for a train that was late. That was always an anticlimax. You arrived at the station, congratulating yourself on your unexpected ef&ciency^you had accomplished everything on time, and neither the long dreary limcheon for a good came nor Washington's jumbled afternoon traffic had delayed you. And then the train was late. Fifteen minutes to put in. Fifteen minutes to add to the lump sum of busy engagements that filled your hours and amounted to nothing. So why worry about another fifteen wasted minutes.?She walked slowly over to the bookstand, a massive island on the vast stretch of polished stone floor, making her way between the groups of people who waited with her. The strangers glanced at her, then glanced again, some covertly, some quite openly. She seemed unaware of their interest. The rows of magazines held her attention.Lieutenant Robert Turner had seen Sylvia. Just my luck, he thought: here I am, stuck with Baker in front of an information board, waiting for a delayed train. No use trying to get rid of Baker, either. Apart from the fact that Baker was the senior lieutenant. Baker's eyes were sharp. Baker's guesses were often shrewd, and Baker's amusement was generally7f