among the clerks. Myra could not resist a tiny flash of claws.

“She’s flat, like a man. And she wears 7�-C. And her face looks as if it had been rubbed with a scouring brick.”

“She’s a goddess!” said Florian, striding along. Myra laughed, a little high hysterical laugh. Then she bit her lip, and then she was silent for a long time. He was silent, too, until suddenly he heard a little sound that made him turn quickly to look at her stumbling along at his side. And she was crying.

“Why — what’s the matter! What’s! — — ”

“I’m tired,” sobbed Myra, and sank in a little limp heap on a convenient rock. “I’m tired. I want to go home.”