"She wouldn't let me go. . He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. Then he would turn his face to her, and she would have to think of herself in his eyes. The door was fastened by a catch and a latch with an inside key, to which at night a chain and two bolts were added. He cried out but his father only waved 280 like an automaton until the apparition disappeared. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat.
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