It was all dark; the windows had the blind, sightless appearance imparted by vacant, untenanted rooms.

A rusty iron rod projected mournfully from one of the window ledges.
"There's where our sign hung once," said Trina.

She turned her head and looked down Polk Street towards where the Other Dentist had his rooms, and there, overhanging the street from his window, newly furbished and brightened, hung the huge tooth, her birthday present to her husband, flashing and glowing in the white glare of the electric lights like a beacon of defiance and triumph.
"Ah, no; ah, no," whispered Trina, choking back a sob.

"Life isn't so gay.

But I wouldn't mind, no I wouldn't mind anything, if only Mac was home all right." She got up from the horse-block and stood again on the corner of the alley, watching and listening.
It grew later.