“Good gracious! You’re feverish! Let me feel.”
She gripped a hot hand.
“Thought so. Have you any money?”
To Eve money presented itself as something that was yellow and detestable. It was part of the heat in her brain.
“No. I spent the last of it this morning. I want to explain——”
The paper-seller put a hand under Eve’s arm.
“Look here, you’ll faint if you stay out here much longer. I’ll take you to friends. Of course, you are one of us?”
“I have been trying to earn a living, and to keep my pride.”
“A thing that men generally manage to make impossible!”
They had to wait for some traffic to pass, and to Eve the street seemed full of vague glare and confusion. She was aware of a firm grip on her arm, and of the nearness of something that was comforting and protective. She wanted to sink down into some soft, soothing substance, to drink unlimited cold water, and not to be bothered.