She was stirred by this thought, angered by that--her own injustice, Hurstwood's, Drouet's, their respective qualities of kindness and favor, the threat of the world outside, in which she had failed once before, the impossibility of this state inside, where the chambers were no longer justly hers, the effect of the argument upon her nerves, all combined to make her a mass of jangling fibers--an anchorless, storm-beaten little craft which could do absolutely nothing but drift.
"Say," said Drouet, coming over to her after a few moments, with a new idea, and putting his hand upon her.
"Don't!" said Carrie, drawing away, but not removing her handkerchief from her eyes.

"Never mind about this quarrel now.

Let it go.

You stay here until the month's out, anyhow, and then you can tell better what you want to do.

Eh ?" Carrie made no answer.
"You'd better do that," he said.