She climbed to
her room, every step of the stairs holding her fast as if her feet were
lined with glue.
Two days later, she descended from the train at Nettleton, and walked
out of the station into the dusty square. The brief interval of cold
weather was over, and the day was as soft, and almost as hot, as when
she and Harney had emerged on the same scene on the Fourth of July. In
the square the same broken-down hacks and carry-alls stood drawn up in
a despondent line, and the lank horses with fly-nets over their withers
swayed their heads drearily to and fro. She recognized the staring signs
over the eating-houses and billiard saloons, and the long lines of wires
on lofty poles tapering down the main street to the park at its other
end. Taking the way the wires pointed, she went on hastily, with bent
head, till she reached a wide transverse street with a brick building
at the corner. She crossed this street and glanced furtively up at
the front of the brick building; then she returned, and entered a door
opening on a flight of steep brass-rimmed stairs.
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