She dropped the bag without hesitation. When the taxicab parted her
family in the middle, Kedzie ran to the opposite sidewalk. She saw
a policeman dashing into the thick of the motors. Her eye caught his.
He beckoned to her that he would ferry her across the torrent. He
was a nice-looking man, but she shook her head at him. She smiled,
however, and hastened away.
Freedom had been forced on her. Why should she relinquish the boon?
She lost herself in the crowd. She had no purpose or destination,
for the whole city was a mystery to her. Soon she noted that part of
the human stream flowed down into the yawning maw of a Subway kiosk
as the water ran out of the bath-tub in the hotel. She floated down
the steps and found herself in a big subterrene room with walls tiled
like those of the hotel bathroom. Everybody was buying tickets from
a man in a funny little cage.
Kedzie had a hand-bag slung at her wrist. In it was some small money.
She fished out a nickel and slid it across the glass sill as the
others did.
Beneath her eyes she saw a card that asked, "How many?" She said,
"One."
The doleful ticket-seller was annoyed at the tautology of passing
him a nickel and saying, "One!" He shot out an angry glance with
the ticket, but he melted at sight of Kedzie's lush beauty, recognized
her unquestionable plebeiance, and hailed her with a "Here you are,
Cutie."
Kedzie was not at all insulted. She gave him smile for smile, took up
her pasteboard and followed the crowd through the gate.
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