It must be some days before you can arrange for her to make an identification. It seemed to her at this moment that there was nothing left for her to do. A kind but hard looking female officer named Rose took her into a room and sat her down at a small wooden table. He heard the panting of the donkey-engine, then the slithering of the anchor chains. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. Anyhow, he did not sentimentalize her. ‘It is nothing.
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