China oil paintings

China oil paintings
Drawing her black shawl yet a little closer about her shoulders, Mrs. Bunting looked down at the placards. She did not feel inclined to buy a paper, as many of the people round her were doing. Her eyes were smarting, even now, from their unaccustomed following of the close print in the paper Bunting took in.
Slowly she turned, at last, into the Underground station.
And now a piece of extraordinary good fortune befell Mrs. Bunting.
The third-class carriage in which she took her place happened to be empty, save for the presence of a police inspector. And once they were well away she summoned up courage, and asked him the question she knew she would have to ask of someone within the next few minutes.
"Can you tell me," she said, in a low voice, "where death inquests are held " - she moistened her lips, waited a moment, and then concluded - " in the neighbourhood of King's Cross?"
The man turned and, looked at her attentively. She did not look at all the sort of Londoner who goes to an inquest - there are many such - just for the fun of the thing. Approvingly, for he was a widower, he noted her neat black coat and skirt; and the plain Princess bonnet which framed her pale, refined face.