Quicksand
Mrs. Hayes-Rore sighed, for no obvious reason. “Um, maybe I can help you. I know people in New York. Do you?”
“No.”
“New York‘s the lonesomest place in the world if you don‘t know anybody.”
“It couldn‘t possibly be worse than Chicago,” said Helga savagely, giving the table support a violent kick.
They were running into the shadow of the tunnel. Mrs. Hayes-Rore murmured thoughtfully: ”You‘d better come uptown and stay with me a few days. I may need you. Something may turn up.”
It was one of those vicious mornings, windy and bright. There seemed to Helga, as they emerged from the depths of the vast station, to be a whirling malice in the sharp air of this shining city. Mrs. Hayes-Rore‘s words about its terrible loneliness shot through her mind. She felt its aggressive unfriendliness. Even the great buildings, the flying cabs, and
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