At such moments the new love within her rose like sonic fresh bursting spring.
The city, though so vast, complex, came to be like a place full of miracles.

The voices of its ceaseless life came into her window day and night, the hoots and distant bellows of ships, the rattle of wheels, the rush of cars, the long swift thunder of the "L," and bursts of laughter from the streets, and animated voices.

She remembered her first night in New York; she recalled her earlier visions of the city as a place of thrilling aspirations, wide, sparkling, abundant lives.

And Ethel smiled and told herself: "All the glory I dreamed of is here." The thought came to her clearly that Amy it was who had hidden it all, who had stood smilingly in the way and had said, "All this is nothing." But she felt a rush of pity now for the woman who was left behind, cut off so completely by the birth of this small son.

The nurse was bringing him into the room, and Ethel smiled at her and said: "Ask Susette if she doesn't want to come, too." It was only a day or two later that her husband broke his news.