"And even Sadie can't tell for certain," she reflected. "I can't
possibly _know_ till Monday noon."
All the fatigue and nerve strain of six dreadful days and six
appalling nights seemed suddenly to culminate in a fit of overpowering
restlessness. Worn out though she was (or all the more because of
that, perhaps) she could not go "home" to Columbus Avenue, where the
"L" that Sadie said should be spelled with an "H" ran past her window.
She was sure if she sat down or went to bed she should think more
about her aching back and burning feet than if she walked. She longed
for the sweet, kind air of heaven to ripple past her hot cheeks like
cool water. She longed for stars to look up to, and for the purple
peace and silence of night after the clamour of the store and before
the babel of Columbus Avenue, into which presently she must plunge.
"I'll walk in the park," she proposed to herself. "It will do me good.
When I'm too tired, I can rest for a few minutes on one of the seats
and hear myself think."
That was one of the many disadvantages of "home." There you could
hear at the same time almost every other sound which could be produced
in the world, but you could not hear yourself think.
Pages:
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193