Anna Morgan, who tells this fragmented little story with a kind of wistful resignation, is a wraithlike Nana moving through the back alleys of London's show business (now? twenty years age? it's hard to tell) into cold rooming houses. She's alone, except for the occasional visit of a stepmother who revives the past-Anna's possibly suspect maternal inheritance, her father's debts on some colonial island. Homeless, actually, jobless, she's the victim of impermanent, predatory men; taken in and then fastened on by ordinary Ethel who gives massages and manicures; at the close is seen having aborted.... Gently handled, to be sure, but it's a familiar voyage and as a novel, slightly poaked.