She longed to own something lasting, anything, but knew her wishes to be stupid. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. “Second class,” said some one, but first and second were all alike to her. These were seated in an imperfect semicircle about a very copper-adorned fireplace, surmounted by a carved wood inscription: “DO IT NOW. ” She shook her head. And, thrusting a piece of iron into his mouth, he forced him out of the room.
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