She slipped off her black fur jacket and was about to toss it on a chair when she stopped, folded it carefully and handed it to Snyder.
"I forgot. Seems like old times for us to be here and you waiting on me." She took off her gloves, rolled them in a ball and tossed them to Snyder who placed them beside the coat on the bed. She added, seeking to give the conversation a casual note: "You got my letter of course. It's all right? I can have the room for the afternoon—alone?"
"Sure."
"I don't need to explain, do I?" she said rapidly. "It's—"
"Shut up, honey," said Snyder in the old rough manner, "it's all yours."
"No one ever comes."
"And who's in that room—Winona's?" she asked, walking to the door and listening.
"She's gone from noon—teaching Fifth Avenue to walk like Hester Street. Don't know her. She's new."
She passed the dressing-table, still crowded with her knickknacks and mementoes.