Lulu was painting her nails. Julie and Andree were doing some limbering−up exercises. Fan, her face screwed up with concentration and the tip of her tongue protruding, was writing a letter. In the far corner of the room Sadie sat in a yellow wrap, reading the newspaper.
They all looked up when Carrie came in. Fan sneered and returned to her letter. Carrie was aware of the long look of hatred that she got from Sadie. That didn’t worry her any.
She said, “YouI want you.”
Sadie put down the newspaper and got to her feet. Her face was now a hard, cold mask. “What is it?”
“Come on out here. I want to talk to you.”
They went out together. Sadie followed Carrie into her own little room.
“You hate me, don’t you?” Carrie said with a little grin. “Well, that’s all right. But you’d hate the guy who got you here a damn sight more, wouldn’t you?”
Sadie stood by the door. She didn’t say anything.
Carrie said, “Do you know why you’re here?”
Still Sadie didn’t say anything. Her eyes smouldered with bitter hatred for the mulatto.