You won’t want to be late the first evening, and it’s ten minutes past seven now. A dry cough's the trumpeter of death. Her eyes still had the fevered glow of sickness, yet she seemed in perfect health. There is only Gerald to see me, after all. There was no one at all in this room, but through the half-open door of one of the small apartments that gave upon it she had a glimpse of two very young girls sitting at a littered table and writing briskly. Presently she was going through a swaying, noisy crowd, whose faces grinned and stared pitilessly in the light of the electric standards.
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