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And that even a three-dollar room, a
whole room that you hadn't to share with anybody, would--if the rent of
it left you money enough to send out your clothes to the laundry and to
buy adequate meals in restaurants--represent luxury--well, to more
people than one likes to think about.
Rodney knew that well enough, of course. He'd read the Sage Foundation
reports on housing; he was familiar with the results of the Pittsburgh
Survey. But the person in question now, wasn't the Working Girl. It was
his Rose!
Out of all the chaos of thought and feeling that had been boiling within
him since the night he had gone with Rose to her room, there emerged,
then, two outstanding ideas. One was that he had outraged her; the other
that she simply couldn't be allowed to go on living as he had found her.
Frederica, naturally, was mystified. "That's absurd, of course, Roddy,"
she said gently. "You haven't done anything to Rose to be forgiven for."
"You'll just have to take my word for it," he said shortly.


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