"Oh, damn!" she remarked, wearily, and went over to the dresser. Then
she pulled down her shirtwaist all around and went down to supper.
The dining-room was very warm, and there came a smell of lardy things
from the kitchen. Those supping were doing so languidly.
"I'm dying for something cool, and green, and fresh," remarked Emma to
the girl who filled her glass with iced water; "something springish
and tempting."
"Well," sing-songed she of the ruffled, starched skirt, "we have
ham'n-aigs, mutton chops, cold veal, cold roast--"
"Two, fried," interrupted Emma hopelessly, "and a pot of tea--black."
Supper over she passed through the lobby on her way upstairs. The
place was filled with men. They were lolling in the big leather chairs
at the window, or standing about, smoking and talking. There was a
rattle of dice from the cigar counter, and a burst of laughter from
the men gathered about it. It all looked very bright, and cheery, and
sociable. Emma McChesney, turning to ascend the stairs to her room,
felt that she, too, would like to sit in one of the big leather chairs
in the window and talk to some one.
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