“I would have given up anything to see you your old self again—as you are this evening. For the young, immortality must seem promising, even wonderful! The grass is always greener on the other side. A woman isn’t much freer—in reality. 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. White, my landlady, believes his story.
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