VII
UNWANTED
LUCRETIA stood on the edge of the sidewalk with the wind and rain beating against her. She held her umbrella close to her like a shield, with her head ducked down into its shelter. From one arm dangled her shopping bag, and with the other elbow she clutched a small mink muff and a paper-covered package to her side. As she attempted to cross the street her skirt swathed itself about her as if it had been chiffon, and half-way over, the freakish gale shifted suddenly, and before Lucretia could whirl about to face its new position, it had got a grip on the inside of her umbrella and ripped the poor weak cotton thing inside out.
Two newsboys laughed out loud. An automobile honked impatiently in her ear. Lucretia dropped the flapping wreck in her hands to the pavement, and clutching the brim of her hat, now pulling away dangerously at its moorings, plunged forward toward the haven of the sidewalk. Just as she stepped on the curbing the package, held so securely beneath her elbow, burst its paper
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