For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. “Good,” he said, as he watched the colour come back to her cheeks. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. Too skilled to advertise their presence by a show of arms and men. Their colorful displays seemed to repel the dreariness of the sky as each group savored its long awaited moment, its weekend arrival in front of the opposite sex. It had been discussed in silence.
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