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They had much to talk about, or rather Miss Prudence had. “I am glad,” she told herself, “I came. “I killed him. “MY DEAR MISS PELLISSIER,— “To-morrow the six months will be up. I will go to-night. Part 4 But presently, as she sat on the one antimacassared red silk chair and surveyed her hold-all and bag in that tidy, rather vacant, and dehumanized apartment, with its empty wardrobe and desert toilet-table and pictureless walls and stereotyped furnishings, a sudden blankness came upon her as though she didn’t matter, and had been thrust away into this impersonal corner, she and her gear.
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