Awakening early, she inaugurated a habit of getting up at once, instead of
lolling in bed, and breakfasting there, and reading her mail, as had been
her wont before going West. Then she went over business matters with her
aunt, called on her lawyer and banker, took lunch with Rose Maynard, and
spent the afternoon shopping. Strong as she was, the unaccustomed heat and
the hard pavements and the jostle of shoppers and the continual rush of
sensations wore her out so completely that she did not want any dinner. She
talked to her aunt a while, then went to bed.
Next day Carley motored through Central Park, and out of town into
Westchester County, finding some relief from the seemed to look at the
dusty trees and the worn greens without really seeing them. In the
afternoon she called on friends, and had dinner at home with her aunt, and
then went to a theatre. The musical comedy was good, but the almost
unbearable heat and the vitiated air spoiled her enjoyment. That night upon
arriving home at midnight she stepped out of the taxi, and involuntarily,
without thought, looked up to see the stars. But there were no stars. A
murky yellow-tinged blackness hung low over the city. Carley recollected
that stars, and sunrises and sunsets, and untainted air, and silence were
not for city dwellers.
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