lightened her sallow skin, gave a finer lustre to her dark eyes. She used a good powder and had an occasional facial massage. Her figure, though full, was erect, firm, neat. Around her throat she wore an inch-wide band of black velvet that becomingly hid the chords and sagging chin muscles.

Yet now, if ever in her life, Hannah Winter was a slave.

Every morning at eight o’clock Marcia telephoned her mother. The hotel calls cost ten cents, but Marcia’s was an unlimited phone. The conversation would start with a formula.

“Hello — Mama?� How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Sleep all right?”

“Oh, yes. I never sleep all night through any more.”