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 problem; consequently lucky little Mrs. Collins had the whole day to herself.

Eddie had been so frighteningly emphatic on the subject of Dot's returning to work.

"No, God damn it. What the hell do you think I am that I can't support my wife? Go to the movies, visit your friends, do what you please, but you'll not go to work."

Dot didn't know that his loud and angry protest had been born in the brain of a five-year-old, scantily-clothed urchin who had trotted stolidly at his mother's side as she scrubbed floors in office buildings, stopping to rest only when that awful pain was giving her a "turn."

Dot never mentioned work again, but she envied Eddie who returned at night after a full and busy day. He didn't have to wonder what he'd do with himself. He ate his dinner ravenously and was ready to enjoy a movie. To Dot, the movies were becoming a deadly bore. The theaters were places where she had to go to keep from dying of loneliness.

Miss Howell, the school teacher who had a room on the same floor with Dot, asked her why she didn't read. Dot thanked her for the suggestion, but somehow the True Story Magazine didn't give a married woman the same kick it might have given a virgin. So after all Miss Howell's kindly suggestion was worthless. Dot couldn't read.

Twice Sue had stolen a day off and had spent it with Dot. It was on one of these days that Dot suffered a shock.

It seemed that Sue was out of favor with her mother. She chewed her gum with passionate intensity and still managed to say, "I told her I was out all night on a party at a friend who lives in Brooklyn's house, but she insists I was with Pat and she called me a terrible name."

Dot registered sympathy. "Why don't you get her to