She caught up her wrap, tied the precious papers in it by the trick of knotting together her long sleeves, and held it close to her side, like a Calabrian immigrant clutching the shawl that carries her worldly goods. Then she crossed the room, stepped outside and closed the door after her. She groped her way hurriedly along the dark hall until she came to the street-door. It opened with a spring lock. The next moment she was outside the house.
But the side-street confronting her was both silent and deserted. And she had already recognized it as an unsavory part of the city. She was afraid of solitude, wordlessly terrified at the thought of isolation. Some mischance, she felt, was still destined to intervene and rob her of her precious haul. And now, of all times, she wanted to be sure of herself.
A little way down the street she made out a milliner's shop window, opposite a street lamp. And from beyond this street lamp she could hear the sound of steadily approaching footsteps.
A small chill seized her at the fateful sound of those feet. Needling tremors of apprehension continued to play along her spine until in the uncertain
