These were the scenes which had formerly appalled me; but now I was
suddenly surprised by a different feeling, and found myself thinking
that among the women who sinned against their womanhood there might be
some who sold themselves for bread to keep those they loved and who
loved them.
This thought was passing through my mind when I heard a hollow ringing
laugh from a woman who was standing at the foot of a flight of steps
talking to a group of three gentlemen whose white shirt fronts beneath
their overcoats showed that they were in evening dress.
Her laughter was not natural. It had no joy in it, yet she laughed and
laughed, and feeling as if I _knew_ (because life had that day trampled
on me also), I said to myself:
"That woman's heart is dead."
This caused me to glance at her as I passed, when, catching a side
glimpse of her face, I was startled by a memory I could not fix.
"Where and when have I seen that woman's face before?" I thought.
It seemed impossible that I could have seen it anywhere.
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