I sat down to rest on the curbing, but a policeman drove me
away; once I crept into a darkened vestibule in a big apartment building,
but another discovered me there, and threatened to take me to the
station. I did n't care much by that time, yet finally he let me go, and
I crept miserably on. I became afraid of the police; I felt as I suppose
criminals must feel; I slunk along in the dark shadows like a hunted
thing. The night grew misty and damp, but I found no shelter. I had no
will power left, no womanhood, no remorse; I had become a thing to play
with, a body without a soul. I had ceased to care, to think, to even
remember; I only wanted to drop the struggle, and have it over with.
Perhaps I should have taken my own life, had I only known how to
accomplish it--it seemed infinitely worse to live than to die. It was
thus I came there, to that corner. I heard the policeman approaching
along the side street, and, terrified, sprang into the yard to
escape--then--then, I met you."
Someone laughed at one of the other tables, and I wheeled about in my
chair. For an instant I believed her voice had been overheard, but
instantly realized the mistake and turned back, noticing how she was
trembling.
"Tell me," I questioned earnestly, "what caused you to interfere between
me and the officer?"
"What! Oh, I hardly know," a touch of hysteria in the nervous
exclamation.
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