Wood the carpenter. She was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be. “There are some people,” he said at last, “who seem fated to carry on their shoulders the burdens of other people. Part 4 But presently, as she sat on the one antimacassared red silk chair and surveyed her hold-all and bag in that tidy, rather vacant, and dehumanized apartment, with its empty wardrobe and desert toilet-table and pictureless walls and stereotyped furnishings, a sudden blankness came upon her as though she didn’t matter, and had been thrust away into this impersonal corner, she and her gear.
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