Digital books pub

Carrie's fur coat was flaring open and, because of the quality of her
attire down there where the bilge waters of the city tide flow and eddy,
stares followed her.
Once, to the stoppage of Alma's heart, she saw Carrie halt and say a
brief word to a truckman as he crossed the sidewalk with a bill of
lading. He hesitated, laughed, and went on.
Then she quickened her pace and went on, but as if with a sense of being
followed, because constantly as she walked she jerked a step, to look
back, and then again, over her shoulder.
A second time she stopped, this time to address a little nub of a
woman without a hat and lugging one-sidedly a stack of men's basted
waistcoats, evidently for home work in some tenement. She looked and
muttered her un-understanding at whatever Carrie had to say, and
shambled on.
Then Mrs. Latz spied her daughter, greeting her without surprise or any
particular recognition.
"Thought you could fool me! Heh, Louis? I mean Alma."
"Mamma, it's Alma.


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