“What’s the use of it all, anyway!” thought Darcy to herself, for perhaps the fiftieth time, but rather more fervently than before.
As if in exasperation of her agnostic mood, the preceptor, in the half-time intermission, had suggested not less, but more work!
“Yah’r gettin’ stale,” observed Mr. Dunne, which Darcy thought a hopeful beginning.
“I feel so,” she said.
“There’s a clock,” Mr. Dunne informed her, “at Fifty-Ninth and Eighth.”
Darcy waited.
“There’s another at a Hundred’n Tenth and Seventh,” pursued the chronometrical Mr. Dunne, and fell into calculating thought.
Darcy waited again.
“Yah leave Fifty-Ninth at 4.20 p.m.”
“When?”