May now. May in Inwood. Trees green and laughing, shaking their branches with queer little rustling noises. Fort George Hill, Riverside Drive, the Mohawk Trail, Isham Park all green and inviting. Sometimes Dot looked up Fort George Hill, and a desire to climb would almost overpower her. Adventure seemed to lurk behind the bushes, to loll on the wild, green grass. She knew it was a delusion. On top was merely the matter-of-fact, workaday world. Washington Heights was there. There was no adventure, and besides in two months' time she would have her baby, and she couldn't climb very well. The Drive was better. She could walk along, dreaming down at the sun-speckled water. It was hot in the sunshine. She could not go without her cape, and she felt the heat so intensely this year. There were benches on the Drive. She could sit down and slip out of her cape for a few minutes. While she was sitting down it wasn't so noticeable that she was pregnant. The Mohawk Trail was hilly. She couldn't go there any more. Isham Park was pleasant and cool, but it was quite a long walk.
She liked to walk to the end of Dyckman Street. It was fun sitting on the dock, watching the ferryboats cross the river. Sometimes fish were caught, and sometimes motor launches passed with gay-looking girls in them. She was interested in gay-looking girls this year. It seemed funny that such a short time before she was one of them. Only last summer she had worried what style of bob to get, what shade of lipstick, what color sweater. She had worn flip little shoes, too, with frightfully high heels on them and perky little bows. She had had a hat
