" Mr. You may go back, Marthe. The day was so darkly overcast that she had to turn on the small white porcelain lamp that sat upon the makeup crowded vanity. No matter how many books one read, each was different, as each human being was different. 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. ’ ‘Yolande, my maid?’ ‘You don’t need a maid,’ Martha said stoutly.
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