Phone or no phone, I still had her address.
It was still daylight when I got out of the cab, and I had a chance
for a good look at the house. It was a handsome place by day; the size
of the huge white stucco wall didn't fit the _uninsurable_ notation
on Rena's claim. That wall enclosed a garden; the garden could hardly
hold less than an AA house. And Class-Es were ordinarily either sent to
public hostels--at the Company's expense, to be sure--or existed on
the charity of friends or relatives. And Class-Es seldom had friends in
Class-AA houses.
I knocked at the gate. A fat woman, age uncertain but extreme, opened a
little panel and peered at me. I asked politely, "Miss dell'Angela?"