It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. 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. Her situation was perplexing her very much, and the Widgett atmosphere was lax and sympathetic, and provocative of discussion. He said simply that he wanted her to live at home. Mother—dear mother!" he added, clasping her in his arms, "Look at me again. The doctor nodded to him curtly.
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