Part 4 But presently, as she sat on the one antimacassared red silk chair and surveyed her hold-all and bag in that tidy, rather vacant, and dehumanized apartment, with its empty wardrobe and desert toilet-table and pictureless walls and stereotyped furnishings, a sudden blankness came upon her as though she didn’t matter, and had been thrust away into this impersonal corner, she and her gear. The doctor walked over to the bed, folded his arms across his chest and stared down into the unabashed eyes of his patient. Conscious of Mrs. She felt conscious of her nipples becoming visibly erect under the tight t-shirt and wished that she owned a thicker brassiere.
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