The passers-by made way for her, thinking she had been sent out on some hurried errand.
She had left her pocketbook, with its pitifully few nickels for car-fare and lunch, in the cloak-room with her coat and hat.

But she did not stop to think of that.

She was fleeing again, this time on foot, from a man.
She half expected he might pursue her, and make her come back to the hated work in the stifling store with his wicked face moving everywhere above the crowds.

But she turned not to look back.

On over the slushy pavements, under the leaden sky, with a few busy flakes floating about her.
The day seemed pitiless as the world.