cious and clean, and she only asked eight dollars and fifty cents per week for it.
After showing her the room, the landlady had invited Emma Lou downstairs to her parlor Emma Lou found a place to sit down on a damask covered divan. There were many other seats in the room, but the landlady, Miss Carrington, as she had introduced herself, insisted upon sitting down beside her. They talked for about a half an hour, and in that time, being a successful “pumper,” Miss Carrington had learned the history of Emma Lou’s experiences in Harlem. Satisfied of her ground, she grew more familiar, placed her hand on Emma Lou’s knee, then finally put her arm around her waist. Emma Lou felt uncomfortable. This sudden and unexpected intimacy disturbed her. The room was close and hot. Damask coverings seemed to be everywhere. Damask coverings and dull red draperies and mauve walls.
“Don’t worry any more, dearie, I'll take care of you from now on,” and she had tightened her arm around Emma Lou’s waist, who, feeling more uncomfortable than ever, looked at her wrist watch.
“I must be going.”
“Do you want the room?” There was a note of anxiety in her voice. “There are lots of nice girls living here. We call this the ‘Old Maid’s Home.’ We have parties among ourselves, and just have a grand
