“Where is there to go? I’ve been tramping all day.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Up and down streets. It’s—it’s blinding, it’s stifling——”
“The fog is,” I said quickly. But we didn’t mean the fog.
He let himself down into the low wicker chair. I stood leaning against
the sill, watching him.
“You’re just dead tired,” I said.