"Oh, you needn't look so scared," laughed the girl, "I haven't come down
to that." Her voice had changed. It had a note of shrillness. In some
indescribable way she had grown coarse. "I'm a kept woman," she
explained. "What else is any woman?"
She reached for her jacket; and the waiter sprang forward and helped her
on with it, prolonging the business needlessly. She wished him "Good
evening" in a tone of distant hauteur, and led the way to the door.
Outside the street was dim and silent. Joan held out her hand.
"No hope of happy endings," she said with a forced laugh. "Couldn't
marry him I suppose?"
"He has asked me," answered the girl with a swagger. "Not sure that it
would suit me now. They're not so nice to you when they've got you fixed
up. So long."
She turned abruptly and walked rapidly away. Joan moved instinctively in
the opposite direction, and after a few minutes found herself in a broad
well-lighted thoroughfare. A newsboy was shouting his wares.
"'Orrible murder of a woman. Shockin' details. Speshul," repeating it
over and over again in a hoarse, expressionless monotone.
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