under reproof.
"I'd just as leave dig on the streets. Nobody knows me here."

"Oh, you needn't do that," said Carrie, hurt by the pity of it. "But
there must be other things."

"I'll get something!" he said, assuming determination.

Then he went back to his paper.

Chapter XXXIX. OF LIGHTS AND OF SHADOWS--THE PARTING OF WORLDS

What Hurstwood got as the result of this determination was more
self-assurance that each particular day was not the day. At the same
time, Carrie passed through thirty days of mental distress.

Her need of clothes--to say nothing of her desire for ornaments--grew
rapidly as the fact developed that for all her work she was not to have
them. The sympathy she felt for Hurstwood, at the time he asked her to
tide him over, vanished with these newer urgings of decency. He was not
always renewing his request, but this love of good appearance was. It
insisted, and Carrie wished to satisfy it, wished more and more that
Hurstwood was not in the way.

Hurstwood reasoned, when he neared the last ten dollars, that he had
better keep a little pocket change and not become wholly dependent for
car-fare, shaves, and the like; so when this sum was still in his hand
he announced himself as penniless.

"I'm clear out," he said to Carrie one afternoon. "I paid for some coal
this morning, and that took all but ten or fifteen cents."

"I've got some money there in my purse."

Hurstwood went to get it, starting for a can of tomatoes. Carrie
scarcely noticed that this was the beginning of the new order. He took
out fifteen cents and bought the can with it. Thereafter it was dribs
and drabs of this sort, until one morning Carrie suddenly remembered
that she would not be back until close to dinner time.

"We're all out of flour," she said; "you'd better get some this
afternoon. We haven't any meat, either. How would it do if we had liver
and bacon?"

"Suits me," said Hurstwood.

"Better get a half or three-quarters of a pound of that."

"Half 'll be enough," volunteered Hurstwood.

She opened her purse and laid down a half dollar. He pretended not to
notice it.

Hurstwood bought the flour--which all grocers sold in 3 1/2-pound
packages--for thirteen cents and paid fifteen cents for a half-pound
of liver and bacon. He left the packages, together with the balance of
twenty-two cents, upon the kitchen table, where Carrie found it. It did
not escape her that the change was accurate. There was somethi