Charity had fallen again
into a listless reverie. She seemed sad. Kedzie wondered what on
earth she could have to be sorry about. She had money and a husband,
and she was swagger.
Kedzie slipped through the gate out to the road. She did not dare
hire a carriage, now that she was jobless. She wished she had not
left paradise. But she dared not try to return. She was not "classy"
enough. Suddenly a spasm of resentment shook the girl.
She felt the hatred of the rich that always set Tommie Gilfoyle afire.
What right had such people to such majesty when Kedzie must walk?
What right had they to homes and yards so big that it tired Kedzie
out just to trudge past? Who was this Mrs. Cheever, that she should
be so top-lofty and bend-downy? Kedzie ground her teeth in anger and
tore Charity's card to bits. She flung them at the sea, but the wind
brought them back about her face stingingly. She walked on, loathing
the very motors that flashed by, flocks of geese squawking contempt.
She walked and walked and walked. The overpowering might of the big
houses in their green demesnes made her feel smaller and wearier, but
big with bitterness. She would have been glad to have a suit-case
full of bombs to blow those snobbish residences into flinders.
She was dog tired when, after losing her way again and again, she
reached the boarding-house where the dancers lodged. She packed
her things and went to the train, lugging her own baggage. When she
reached the station she was footsore, heartsore, soulsore.
Pages:
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146