One of those forlorn impulses which often grow out of a fixed sense of defeat, the last sprouting of a baffled and uprooted growth of ideas, seized upon her.

She walked deliberately through the door and up to the gentleman, who looked at her weary face with partially awakened interest.
"What is it ?" he said.
"Can you give me something to do ?" said Carrie.
"Now, I really don't know," he said kindly.

"What kind of work is it you want--you're not a typewriter, are you ?" "Oh, no," answered Carrie.
"Well, we only employ book-keepers and typewriters here.

You might go around to the side and inquire upstairs.

They did want some help upstairs a few days ago.