Quicksand
down the long aisle which divided the room, the principal‘s secretary, a huge black man, surged toward her.
"Good-morning, Miss Crane, Dr. Anderson will see you in a few moments. Sit down right here."
She felt the inquiry in the shuttered eyes. For some reason this dissipated her self-consciousness and restored her poise. Thanking him, she seated herself, really careless now of the glances of the stenographers, book-keepers, clerks. Their curiosity and slightly veiled hostility no longer touched her. Her coming departure had released her from the need for conciliation which had irked her for so long. It was pleasant to Helga Crane to be able to sit calmly looking out of the window on to the smooth lawn, where a few leaves quite prematurely fallen dotted the grass, for once uncaring whether the frock which she wore roused disapproval or envy.
Turning from the window, her gaze
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