She laughed at herself in the glass.

She was happy, almost triumphant, and for no reason at all.
She went to her windows and opened them; there came up to her the tramping progress of the motor-omnibuses.

They advanced, like elephants charging down a jungle, nearer, nearer, nearer.

Before the tramp of one had passed another was advancing, and then upon that another--ceaselessly, advancing and retreating.
In her nightdress she leaned out of the window, poised, as it seemed to her, above a swaying carpet of lights.
Life seemed to hold every promise in store for her.
She crossed to her bed, drew the clothes about her and, forgetting her supper, forgetting all that had happened to her, her journey, her fainting, the young man, Edward the parrot, she fell into a slumber as deep, as secure, as death itself..