The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes. 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. It cost her seventy-seven dollars. "She has flown up stairs," replied the widow. That did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock. Father— dead. Oddly, Sebastian chose to be charioteer.
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