She was conscious the whole conversation of Michelle, trying to divine what the girl was planning to do. On a high chair behind a raised counter the stipendiary’s substitute regarded her malevolently over his glasses. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. . She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. She wrote it down. Instead, he was bowing to her greataunt. He looked at her guiltily. It is a plain case of alcoholic stupor.
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