“Oh, yes, dear. New York is quite the most magic place in America—something for every one who comes, if he only stays on.”
They had crowded into the little room.
“This is fine,” the girl said. “This is what I want. It’s just as I saw it.”
“You get your water in the hall below,” the woman explained. “There is no gas plate, so you will have to bring your coffeepot down to my stove in the basement. The walls are ugly, but I’ll see that the cot is clean for you. If the wall of the next house across the area were only painted white, you would get more light.”
The wall spoken of was less than three feet from the window sill.
“What is the price?” the girl asked, with a cough before and after.
“Twelve dollars a month.”
“I will pay for a month now,” she said, with a small part of a big out-breath.
“When did you come to New York?” the woman asked.
“This morning.”