题目内容
The light was in his favor when the young man was halfway across the street.
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The cabby was a little grey man of fifty, and he spoke with a heavy accent.
The cabby insisted on calling the police because the young man refused to show his driver’s licence.
Fitzsimmons wouldn’t have to waste any more time, so he was reluctant to drive to the police station.
Watching the old man sitting among the spit and cigarette butts, on the floor against the wall, with his cap off and his great bush of musician’s grey hair giving the lie to the tired , weathered face below it, Fitzsimmons felt like crying.
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