"Can't you hear ?" "Oh," said Carrie, collapsing, and blushing fiercely.
"Isn't your name Mason ?" asked the manager.
"No, sir," said Carrie, "it's Madenda." "Well, what's the matter with your feet?
Can't you dance ?" "Yes, sir," said Carrie, who had long since learned this art.
"Why don't you do it then?
Don't go shuffling along as if you were dead.
I've got to have people with life in them." Carrie's cheek burned with a crimson heat.

Her lips trembled a little.
"Yes, sir," she said.
It was this constant urging, coupled with irascibility and energy, for three long hours.

Carrie came away worn enough in body, but too excited in mind to notice it.

She meant to go home and practice her evolutions as prescribed.

She would not err in any way, if she could help it.
When she reached the flat Hurstwood was not there.