Then, with a look of supreme contempt, she left the room.
Norman looked down on the white heap that lay peacefully at his feet. "I
am a fool," he thought.
"Little Mae Madden, little Mae Madden, I am so sorry for you," repeated
that excited bit of womankind to herself in the silence of her own room.
"What won't they drive you to yet? How dreadful they think you are? And
only last night we thought things were all coming around beautifully!"
And she looked at herself pityingly in the glass. A mirror is a
dangerous thing for a woman who has come to pity herself. She sees the
possibilities of her face too clearly. And Mae, looking into the mirror
then, realized to an extent she never had before, that her eyes and
mouth might be powerful friends to herself and foes to Norman Mann,
if she so desired. And to-day she did so desire, and went down to the
Carnival with as reckless and dangerous a spirit as good King Pasquino
could have asked.
The details of this day were very like those of the last.
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