Wood lifted up his hands in mute despair. Every girl in the world practically, except a few of us who teach or type-write, and then we’re underpaid and sweated—it’s dreadful to think how we are sweated!” She had lost her generalization, whatever it was. The assemblage which was gathered together was almost countless. “How do you know?” “Well, it isn’t exactly a depressing state, is it?” “YOU don’t know. The whole affair interested him deeply. She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend.
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