Part 4 But presently, as she sat on the one antimacassared red silk chair and surveyed her hold-all and bag in that tidy, rather vacant, and dehumanized apartment, with its empty wardrobe and desert toilet-table and pictureless walls and stereotyped furnishings, a sudden blankness came upon her as though she didn’t matter, and had been thrust away into this impersonal corner, she and her gear. I was—I was a corespondent. I don’t think I shall ever care for this bonnet again. And I heard ‘Alcide’ sing, and that little dance she did. She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. ” “You are separated from your wife?” “Yes, but do you know how?” “Not exactly. He had sold half a dozen short tales to thirdrate magazines; but this letter had been issued from a distinguished editorial room, of international reputation.
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