Quicksand
eyes. But she couldn‘t escape from sure knowledge that she had made a fool of herself. This angered her further and she struck the wall with her hands and jumped up and began hastily to dress herself. She couldn‘t go on with the analysis. It was too hard. Why bother, when she could add nothing to the obvious fact that she had been a fool?
“I can‘t stay in this room any longer. I must get out or I‘ll choke.” Her self-knowledge had increased her anguish. Distracted, agitated, incapable of containing her- self, she tore open drawers and closets trying desperately to take some interest in the selection of her apparel.
It was evening and still raining. In the streets, unusually deserted, the electric lights. cast dull glows. Helga Crane, walking rapidly, aimlessly, could decide on no definite destination. She had not thought to take umbrella or even rubbers. Rain and wind whipped cruelly about her, drenching her garments and chill-
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