The fat girl with a
cold supplied her with the explanation.
Dolly's chorus-man, it seemed, had already departed on an earlier train
to St. Louis, where he lived, without taking any leave of her at all.
Rose wanted to go over and try to comfort the child, but somehow she
couldn't manage to. Sentimentalizing over her grief and disillusionment
wouldn't do any good. The grief probably wasn't more than an inch deep
anyway, and the illusions had been too tawdry to regret. As for doing
anything, what was there one could do?
There wasn't much that Rose could do at any rate. Because after weeks of
drifting, she'd come to a resolution.
She didn't go to the railway station to sign her receipt and get her
ticket to Chicago. What was there in Chicago for her? She meant to stay,
for the present, at any rate, in Centropolis. She checked her suit-case
in the coat-room and, with a sensation of relief, watched the mournful
company file away.
She had three dollars and some small change, and the day before her.
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