Flo cuddled up to her in quite sisterly fashion, saying: "Now don't cover
your head. If it rains I'll wake and pull up the tarp. Good night, Carley."
And almost immediately she seemed to fall asleep.
For Carley, however, sleep did not soon come. She had too many aches; the
aftermath of her shock of fright abided with her; and the blackness of
night, the cold whip of wind over her face, and the unprotected
helplessness she felt in this novel bed, were too entirely new and
disturbing to be overcome at once. So she lay wide eyed, staring at the
dense gray shadow, at the flickering lights upon the cedar. At length her
mind formed a conclusion that this sort of thing might be worth the
hardship once in a lifetime, anyway. What a concession to Glenn's West! In
the secret seclusion of her mind she had to confess that if her vanity had
not been so assaulted and humiliated she might have enjoyed herself more.
It seemed impossible, however, to have thrills and pleasures and
exaltations in the face of discomfort, privation, and an uneasy
half-acknowledged fear. No woman could have either a good or a profitable
time when she was at her worst. Carley thought she would not be averse to
getting Flo Hutter to New York, into an atmosphere wholly strange and
difficult, and see how she met situation after situation unfamiliar to her.
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