In the small red bus there was only a Negress with a withered arm and, beside the driver, a girl who kept her sick hands out of sight and whose head was completely shrouded in a thick black veil which fell to her shoulders, like a bee-keeper’s hat, without touching the skin of her face.
The bus, which said ‘Acme Mud and Sulphur Baths’ on its sides and ‘Every Hour on the Hour’ above the windscreen, went through the town without picking up any more customers and turned off the main road down a badly maintained gravel track through a plantation of young firs. After half a mile, it rounded a corner and went down a short hill towards a cluster of dingy grey clapboard buildings. A tall yellow-brick chimney stuck up out of the centre of the buildings and from it a thin wisp of black smoke rose s
