CHAPTER II
The LodgerAt about one-thirty in the morning — certainly no later than two, Lucille hoped — the bus pulled up on Stepney Green and she alighted. This was not the closest stop to her home in Peony Place, but it enabled her to pay a quick call on a dear old friend, a cast-iron Victorian hand-pump on the street corner, that had long been Lucille’s trusty ally on these occasions, helping her to wash off all traces of eyeliner, lipstick, and other offending cosmetics before she had to risk facing her loved ones. This would help to smooth things a little, even if painful scenes were a certainty. After about a minute of vigorous scrubbing in the bitterly cold water, she took her hand mirror from her horribly depleted purse and examined the results. As far as she could tell by the wave
