“Mr. You were afraid of me, afraid that I should have been shocked, afraid of the scandal. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. Besides," she added, blushing yet more deeply, "it isn't a proper one to talk upon. " She kindled with sympathy. They are horrible. She was saying good-bye to childhood and home, and her making; she was going out into the great, multitudinous world; this time there would be no returning. She was curious to know why he had boarded a dingy train instead of hailing a cab or his own private chauffeur like the others in expensive suits were doing. She was a lone white woman, therefore marked. \" 66 She commented as more doors slammed. "How is Mr. And taking the keys, he departed on the errand.
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