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Updated: June 3, 2025
Taking advantage of the floods of light Mabel Connemora had let in upon her full light where there had been a dimness that was equal to darkness she drew from the closets of memory and examined all the incidents of her life all that were typical or for other reasons important.
Tempest, who believed himself a lady-killer, noted the ingenuous look in the young girl's face, and began to pose. And it was hardly three bites of a ham sandwich thereafter when Mabel Connemora noted Tempest's shootings of his cuffs and rumplings of his oily ringlets and rollings of his hollow eyes. And at the sight Miss Mabel's bright eyes became bad and her tongue shot satire at him.
When she looked out the men were on deck, Violet was getting breakfast, and Connemora was combing her short, thinning, yellow hair before a mirror hung up near one of the forward doors. In the mirror Connemora saw her, smiled and nodded. "You can fix your hair here," said she. "I'm about done. You can use my brush."
She unpacked her bag, contributed the food in it to the common store, spread out her serge suit which Miss Anstruther offered to press and insisted on pressing, though Susan protested she could do it herself quite well. "You'll want to put it on for the arrival at Sutherland," said Mabel Connemora. "No," replied Susan nervously. "Not till tomorrow."
The spell of the stage seized her with Tempest's first line, first elegant despairing gesture. It held her through Burlingham and Anstruther's "sketch" of a matrimonial quarrel, through Connemora and Eshwell's "delicious symphonic romanticism" of a lovers' quarrel and making up, through Tempest's recitation of "Lasca," dying to shield her cowboy lover from the hoofs of the stampeded herd.
See?" "I I think I do," said the girl. "I'm not sure." Burlingham smoked his cigar in silence. When he spoke, it was with eyes carefully averted. "There's another subject the spirit moves me to talk to you about. That's the one Miss Connemora opened up with you yesterday." As Susan moved uneasily, "Now, don't get scared. I'm not letting the woman business bother me much nowadays.
With Etta gone, with not a friend anywhere on earth, life was not worth the price she had paid for Etta and herself to the drunken man. Her streak of good fortune in meeting Redmond had given her no illusions; from Mabel Connemora, from what she herself had heard and seen and experienced she knew the street woman's life, and she could not live that life for herself alone.
"'It is the dawn, and Juliet is the east," orated Tempest in rich, romantic tones. "A damn shame to waste her on these yaps," said Eshwell. Connemora embraced her with tearful eyes. "And as sweet as you are lovely, you dear!" she cried. "You simply can't help winning." The two women thought her greatest charms were her form and her feet and ankles.
She was seeing queer, vivid, apparently disconnected visions Burlingham, sick unto death, on the stretcher in the hospital reception room Blynn of the hideous face and loose, repulsive body the contemptuous old gentleman in the shop odds and ends of the things Mabel Connemora had told her the roll of bills the young man had taken from his pocket when he paid Jeb Ferguson in the climax of the horrors of that wedding day and night.
As they walked, Susan, to delude herself into believing that she was not hesitating, with fainting courage talked incessantly to Etta told her the things Mabel Connemora had explained to her about how a woman could, and must, take care of her health, if she were not to be swept under like the great mass of the ignorant, careless women of the pariah class.
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