The desolation and despair of those seven days that followed is hard to forget. My cheerful friend in the neighbouring house happened to be away, and all alone, I pulled up my floor-covering, took down my pictures and packed my books.
I may say I hunted high and low for a newspaper cutting about "The Ass," to put under the Priestess' door as a payback for "The Horse."
New boarders came one day while the Priestess was away and the man eagerly set to work to make a vegetable garden out of the Priestess' pet herb patch.
"You're running into great danger there," I could not resist calling from my window. "That's an Occult Priestess' pet herb patch—Look out that your vibrations suit or you'll have a lively time."
He looked up, distressed, turned to see the havoc he had made of the "friendly" ferns and flowers, put down his spade and walked in dejectedly.
Flats were few and hard to find just then.
More material than ever, I felt as I stumped about over my uncarpeted floors hoping that every noisy footfall might stamp itself on Naomi's callous heart.
Every day I expected her to come up, if only to say good-bye.
She never came near me.
But on the last day as I returned for some of my things I saw her red dress, and in a second saw her hesitate as if wondering whether she would come towards me or turn tail and walk the other way.
She decided to do the former.
Nearer and nearer she came and my heart beat fast.
She crossed the street and came towards me.
I bent my head, and steadily looked on the ground, and passed on.
As I stood at my door fitting the latch-key in the lock, I turned.
She was going in at a neighboring gate.
She turned her face towards me—a white face full of agonised despair it looked to me that moment.
What had she done? What had I done? Why had all this happened and was this the end of it, I wondered as I opened the door and went through the empty rooms.
