She saw but too clearly that not only did her present position depend on her returning the mantilla at the earliest possible moment, but that, exhausted as she was, she must utilize the few remaining minutes of daylight as well as the earlier hours of the morning to keep her promise.

To work long at night she knew was impossible.

She had not the eyes to follow the intricacies of the meshes with no other light than that afforded by Martha's kerosene lamp.

She had tried it before, and had been forced to stop.
When she reached the cross street leading to Martha's door, she hurried from the car, caught her skirts in her hand, a habit of hers when nervously hurried, and, summoning up all her strength, sped on, mounting the narrow, rickety steps with but a pause for breath on the last landing.

Once there, she took her latch-key from her pocket and unlocked the door, leaving it on the jar, as she knew Martha might come in at any moment.
As she entered the humble apartment, its restful seclusion, after her experience with Mangan, sent a thrill of thankfulness through her.