e cents, all she had in the world. What now?

All at once, the Terror of the City, that blind, unreasoned fear that
only the outcast knows, swooped upon her, and clutched her vulture-wise,
by the throat.

Her first few days' experience in the matter of finding employment, had
taught her just what she might expect from this new world upon which she
had been thrown. What was to become of her? What was she to do, where
was she to go? Unanswerable, grim questions, and now she no longer had
herself to fear for. Her mother and the baby, little Hilda, both of them
equally unable to look after themselves, what was to become of them,
where were they gone? Lost, lost, all of them, herself as well. But she
rallied herself, as she walked along. The idea of her starving, of her
mother and Hilda starving, was out of all reason. Of course, it would
not come to that, of course not. It was not thus that starvation came.
Something would happen, of course, it would--in time. But meanwhile,
meanwhile, how to get through this approaching night, and the next few
days. That was the thing to think of just now.

The suddenness of it all was what most unnerved her. During all the
nineteen years of her life, she had never known what it meant to shift
for herself. Her father had always sufficed for the family; he had taken
care of her, then, all of a sudden, her father had been killed, her
mother snatched from her. Then all of a sudden there was no help
anywhere. Then all of a sudden a terrible voice demanded of her, "Now
just what can you do to keep yourself alive?" Life faced her; she looked
the huge stone image squarely in the lustreless eyes.

It was nearly twilight. Minna, for the sake of avoiding observation--for
it seemed to her that now a thousand prying glances followed
her--assumed a matter-of-fact demeanour, and began to walk briskly
toward the business quarter of the town.

She was dressed neatly enough, in a blue cloth skirt with a blue plush
belt, fairly decent shoes, once her mother's, a pink shirt waist, and
jacket and a straw sailor. She was, in an unusual fashion, pretty. Even
her troubles had not dimmed the bright light of her pale, greenish-blue
eyes, nor faded the astonishing redness of her lips, nor hollowed her
strangely white face. Her blue-black hair was trim. She carried her
well-shaped, well-rounded figure erectly. Even in her distress, she
observed that men looked keenly at her, and sometimes after her as she
went