history of the time
Curley gave poor Ralph a "crule" beating, or of the day Alicia Curley
died in convulsions at the age of three.

Martie had hoped to be in her own little home when the baby came, but
this was swiftly proven impossible. Wallace's play failed after the
wonderful salary had been paid for only eight weeks. He idled about
with his wife for a few happy weeks, and then got another engagement
with a small comic opera troupe, and philosophically and confidently
went on the road. Presently he was home again and in funds, but this
time it was only a few days before the next parting.

The golden Indian Summer came, and the city blazed in glorious colour.
Homecoming began; the big houses on the Avenue were opened. Martie
never saw the burning leaves of September in later years without a
memory of the poignant uneasiness with which she first had walked
beneath them, worrying about money, about Wallace's prospects, about
herself and her child. Many of her walks were filled with imaginary
conversations with her husband, in which she argued, protested,
reproached. She was lonely, she was still strange to the city, and she
was approaching her ordeal.

Even when he was with her, she missed the old loverlike attitude. She
was wistful, gentle, dependent now, and she knew her wistfulness and
gentleness and dependence vaguely irritated. But she could not help it;
she wanted to touch him, to cling to him, to have him praise and
encourage her, and tell her how much he loved her.

Her hour came near, and she went bravely to meet it. Wallace was in
Baltimore, playing juvenile roles in a stock company. Martie went alone
to the big hospital, and put herself into the hands of a capable but
indifferent young nurse, who candidly explained that she had more
patients than she could care for without the newcomer. Martie,
frightened by the businesslike preparations and the clean,
ether-scented rooms, submitted and obeyed with a sick heart. Through
the dull quiet of a dark November day the first snow of the season, the
first Martie had ever seen, began to flutter. Moving restlessly about
her little room, she stopped at the window to look out upon it through
a haze of pain.

Heat and hot lights, strange halls, a strange doctor, and early evening
in a great operating-room; she had only a dazed impression of them all.
Life roared and crackled about her. She leaped into the offered
oblivion with no thought of what it might entail....