She found herself alone in the train asking herself what she must do next, and trying not to think of herself as cut off from home or any refuge whatever from the world she had resolved to face. Earles glanced at it, and his eyes flashed with anger. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. In a tall glass the rind of a Syrian orange was arranged in spiral form. He struck out from the shoulder, and the man measured his length upon the pavement. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. " "The Dawn Pearl! Odd, but we white folks aren't half so poetical as the yellow or the black.
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