"I'm going!" she said at last, as she caught up a second hand-bag of alligator skin and crammed into it jewel boxes of dark plush and cases of different colored kid, and still more clothing and lingerie. "I'm going to catch the Nieuw Amsterdam."
"For where?"
"For Europe!"
Her quick and dextrous hands had pinned on a hat and veil as I stood in wonder watching her.
"Call a taxi, please," she said, as she struggled into her coat. "And a boy for my bags."
I was still at the receiver when she came into the room and looked down for a moment at the woman moaning and whimpering on the coffee-stained floor. Then she began resolutely and calmly drawing on her gloves.
"Couldn't we do something for them?" I said as I stepped back into the bedroom for her hand-bag.
"What?" she demanded, as she leaned over the bed where Whelan's reviving body twitched and moved.
"There must be something."
"There's nothing. Oh, believe me, you can't help him. I can't help him. He's got his own way to go. And it's a terribly short way!"