A routine
began.
On weekdays they rose at half-past six, being awakened by the boy who
brought the bottled milk, and who had instructions to pound upon the
bedroom door in passing. Trina made breakfast--coffee, bacon and eggs,
and a roll of Vienna bread from the bakery. The breakfast was eaten in
the kitchen, on the round deal table covered with the shiny oilcloth
table-spread tacked on. After breakfast the dentist immediately betook
himself to his "Parlors" to meet his early morning appointments--those
made with the clerks and shop girls who stopped in for half an hour on
their way to their work.
Trina, meanwhile, busied herself about the suite, clearing away the
breakfast, sponging off the oilcloth table-spread, making the bed,
pottering about with a broom or duster or cleaning rag. Towards ten
o'clock she opened the windows to air the rooms, then put on her drab
jacket, her little round turban with its red wing, took the butcher's
and grocer's books from the knife basket in the drawer of the kitchen
table, and descended to the street, where she spent a delicious
hour--now in the huge market across the way, now in the grocer's
store with its fragrant aroma of coffee and spices, and now before the
counters of the haberdasher's, intent on a bit of shopping, turning
over ends of veiling, strips of elastic, or slivers of whalebone.
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