Eight o'clock in the morning. Miss Ada Moss lay in her narrow bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her room, which was right at the top of a tall house in Bloomsbury, smelled of wet clothes and face powder and the bag of fried potatoes she had brought in for supper the night before.

"Oh dear," thought Miss Moss. "I am cold. I wonder why I always wake up so cold in the mornings now. My knees and feet and my back -- especially my back -- are like ice. And I was always so warm in the old days. It isn't because I'm thin. I'm just as well-covered as I always was. No, it's because I don't have a good hot dinner in the evenings."

…

…

…

 

>> 网页版功能未完善，完整内容，请扫码微信小程序。