Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. One doesn’t realize that even the sort of civilization one has at Morningside Park is held together with difficulty.
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