She took up her bundle, walked down the long saloon with its gilt decorations, its crystal chandeliers, its double array of small doors, each numbered.

The clerk looked after her, admiration of the fine curve of her shoulders, back, and hips written plain upon his insignificant features.

And it was a free admiration he would not have dared show had she not been a daughter of illegitimacy--a girl whose mother's "looseness" raised pleasing if scandalous suggestions and even possibilities in the mind of every man with a carnal eye.

And not unnaturally.

To think of her was to think of the circumstances surrounding her coming into the world; and to think of those circumstances was to think of immorality.
Susan, all unconscious of that polluted and impudent gaze, was soon standing before the narrow door numbered 34, as she barely made out, for the lamps in the saloon chandeliers were turned low.