It became for an hour a fantastic vision with her that he might just have gone to sit and wait for her.

She could almost hear him, through the tick of the sounder, scatter with his stick, in his impatience, the fallen leaves of October.

Why should such a vision seize her at this particular moment with such a shake?
There was a time--from four to five--when she could have cried with happiness and rage.
Business quickened, it seemed, toward five, as if the town did wake up; she had therefore more to do, and she went through it with little sharp stampings and jerkings: she made the crisp postal-orders fairly snap while she breathed to herself "It's the last day--the last day!" The last day of what?
She couldn't have told.

All she knew now was that if she _were_ out of the cage she wouldn't in the least have minded, this time, its not yet being dark.

She would have gone straight toward Park Chambers and have hung about there till no matter when.