She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. “I had to. The smell of laundry detergent was noticeable, the bed sheets very tightly stretched across the bed, tucked in on three sides. Perhaps it was the recollection of those happy days. Then he slapped his hand on his desk and looked up with the air of a man struck by a brilliant idea. Supposing he too wanted love and his arms were as empty as hers? Some living thing that depended upon her.
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