From overhead sounded the roaring dissonance of an elevated train; on
either side of her phantom shapes swarmed--figures which moved
everywhere around her, now illumined by shop windows, now silhouetted
against them. And always through the deafening confusion in her brain,
the dismay, the stupefaction, one dreadful fear dominated--the fear of
Brandes--the dread and horror of this Judas who had denied her.
She could not drive the scene from her mind--the never-to-be forgotten
picture where he stood with blood from his cut lip striping his fat
chin. She heard his voice denying her through swollen lips that
scarcely moved--denying that he had married her.
And in her ears still sounded the other voice--the terrible words of
the woman who had struck him--an unsteady, unreal voice accusing him;
and her brain throbbed with the horrible repetition: "Dirty dog--dirty
dog--dirty dog----" until, almost out of her mind, she dropped her bag
and clapped both hands over her ears.
One or two men stared at her. A taxi driver came from beside his car
and asked her if she was ill. But she caught up her suitcase and
hurried on without answering.
* * * * * She was very tired. She had come to the end of the lighted avenue.
There was darkness ahead, a wall, trees, and electric lights sparkling
among the foliage.
Perhaps the sudden glimpse of a wide and star-set sky quieted her,
calmed her. Freed suddenly from the cañon of the city's streets, the
unreasoning panic of a trapped thing subsided a little.
Her arm ached; she shifted the suitcase to her other hand and looked
across at the trees and at the high stars above, striving desperately
for self-command.
Something had to be done. She must find some place where she could sit
down. Where was she to find it?
For a while she could feel her limbs trembling; but gradually the
heavy thudding of her pulses quieted; nobody molested her; nobody had
followed her. That she was quite lost did not matter; she had also
lost this man who had denied her, somewhere in the depths of the
confusion behind her. That was all that mattered--escape from him,
from the terrible woman who had struck him and reviled him.
With an effort she checked her thoughts and struggled for
self-command. Somewhere in the city there must be a railroad station
from which a train would take her home.
With the thought came the desperate longing for flight, and a rush of
tears that almost choked her. Nothing mattered now except her mother's
arms; the rest was a nightmare, the horror of a dream which still
threatened, still clutched at her with shadowy and spectral menace.
For a moment or two she stood there on the curb, her eyes closed,
fighting for self-control, forcing her disorganized brain to duty.