room to change into her out-of-door clothes.

She disregarded the many questions that several of the girls came
upstairs to ask her. She packed up her things as a preliminary to
leaving "Dawes'" for good. For many hours she paced the streets,
heedless of where her steps led her, her heart seemingly breaking
with rage and shame at the insults to which she had been subjected.

About eight, she felt utterly exhausted, and turned into the first
shop where she could get refreshment.

This was a confectioner's. The tea and dry biscuits she ordered
enabled her to marshal her distracted thoughts into something
approaching coherence; she realised that, as she was not going back
to "Dawes'," she must find a roof for the night.

She had several times called on her old friend Mrs Ellis; she
decided to make for her house. She asked her way to the nearest
station, which was Notting Hill; here she took a ticket to
Hammersmith and then walked to Kiva Street, where she knocked at the
familiar door. A powerful-looking man in corduroy trousers and shirt
sleeves opened it.

"Mrs Ellis?" asked Mavis.

"'Orspital."

"I'm very sorry. What's the matter with her?"

"Werry bad."