continual watching of her, the continual sight of her hands dancing
laboriously on those keys, the noise of the typewriter at last
reached the ears of his imagination. He could hear, above the sounds
of the street, that everlasting metallic tapping.

"God! What a life!" he exclaimed to himself.

If there is anything in telepathy; if thoughts, by reason of their
concentration, can be borne from one mind to another utterly
unconscious of them, then what followed his exclamation might well
have been an example of it. For a moment the girl buried her face
in her hands. He could see her pressing her fingers into the sockets
of her eyes. Then, sitting upright, she stretched her arms above her
head. Every action was expressive of her exhaustion. The glancing
at her watch, the critical inspection of the bundle of papers, yet
untyped, that lay beside her on the desk; all these various movements
were like the gestures of a dumb show. Was she going to give in? From
the size of the bundle of papers which she had looked at, there was
apparently still a great deal of work left for her to do.

The thought passed across his mind that he would give her until he
had counted twenty; if she showed no signs of moving by that time,
he decided to wait no longer.

One--two--three--four--she stood up from the desk. He still watched
her until he had seen her place the wooden cover over the machine;
then he crossed to the other side of the road and began walking up
and down the pavement, passing the door of Bonsfield & Co. About every
twenty yards or so, he turned and passed it again.