She had left the first store incredulous rather than angry, under the
impression that she had encountered a chance fanatic. It seemed
impossible that anybody with a well-balanced mind, could treat her as if
she carried contamination, merely because she had earned a living for a
while in the chorus of a musical comedy. It was fortunate for her that
her first applications were met by anger, rude discourtesy, and openly
avowed suspicion, because this treatment roused in her, for the first
time in months, a strong surge of indignation. Her blood came up after
these encounters, nearer and nearer the boiling point. The man who
smiled at her like a satyr, was shriveled by the blaze of her blue eyes,
and was left, red-faced, blustering weakly after her.
When she walked back to the hotel along Main Street the lassitude that
had so long held her half-paralyzed was gone. She was the old Rose
again; the Rose whom Galbraith would have recognized.
She didn't know it. She was conscious of nothing but a hot determination
that had not, as yet, even expressed itself in terms.
Pages:
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807