There were pink voile curtains at these windows, but Dot hadn't made them. Bedroom curtains are nicer when they're all frilly and ruffly. It was the ruffliness that had scared Dot out of making them. She had bought them from the department store at Two Hundred and Seventh and Broadway. Two and a quarter a pair.
Coming at one from the center of the north wall was the bed. A full-size, bird's-eye maple bed with carved scroll-work in two places. It had three pillows; Dot liked two and Eddie liked one. The spread was just plain white. To Dot there was something touching about that white spread. It seemed so wistfully envious of the beautiful pink curtains, so sure that no one could ever admire it while the breezes insisted upon making lovely, delicate sails out of the pink voile curtains. Dot always patted the spread lovingly.
The rug was leaf green with, Dot thought, pineapples in it. She decided to refer to them as "figures." If she called them pineapples Edna might think she didn't like them. When Dot sat down on a maple-wood chair she was able to see under the bed where there was a worn spot in the rug, but—comforting thought—few people sat on the maple-wood chair. Another chair was upholstered in yellow brocade and absolutely smirked with self-satisfaction.
Dot admired Eddie's chiffonier terribly. It was chestnut, because chestnut was the only wood that Martin Driggs knew by name and he had been badgered into choosing his own chiffonier. A matting-covered chest stood in one corner of the room. It held some of the bedroom linens and towels. The overflow was accommodated in Eddie's chiffonier. Eddie, statistics proved, could do nicely with two drawers and a laundry bag.
Dot frequently opened the door of her closet. It had a large wooden arm, stretched between its walls, which
