"Yes, Glorious Lutie, I was always receiving letters which started that little hammer of intuition knocking. I was always overhearing bits of conversation which started it; although often I could not understand a word. I was always trying to piece things together--wondering-- Well, the next time I'll know better. I've learned my lesson. But oh--think, think, _think_ what I've helped to do. They robbed widows and orphans and all kinds of helpless people. Of course I didn't know I was doing it. But that's going to haunt me for a long, long time. I wish there were some way I could make up. I've come out of it safe. But they--oh, I mustn't think of this. I _mustn't_. I can't stand it if I do. Oh, Glorious Lutie, believe me, my guardian angel was certainly on _that_ job. Otherwise I don't know what would have become of me. Are you my guardian angel, I wonder?" When Susannah finally arose for good, she discovered, naturally enough, that she was hungry. She went out immediately and, in the nearest Child's restaurant, ordered a dinner which she afterward described to Glorious Lutie as "magnanimously, munificently, magnificently masculine." It consisted mainly of sirloin steak and boiled potatoes, "and I certainly ate my fill of them both." Then she took a little aimless, circumscribed walk; returned to her room. She unpacked her tightly stratified suitcase; hung her clothes in her little closet; ranged her small articles in the bureau drawer. As though she were going to start clean in her new career, she bathed and washed her hair in the public bathroom on the second floor. Coming back into her room, she sat for a long time before the window while her dripping locks dried. She sat there through the dusk.