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. A moment before he had been a strong man, she had been in his power, a poor helpless thing. “Everybody is taking it up,” said Miss Miniver. She had never even brought a friend home in her time at the Becks, let alone been asked on dates.
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