On the
street she rubbed elbows with the great ladies of the avenue in their
beautiful dresses, or at intervals she met an acquaintance or two--Miss
Baker, or Heise's lame wife, or Mrs. Ryer. At times she passed the flat
and looked up at the windows of her home, marked by the huge golden
molar that projected, flashing, from the bay window of the "Parlors."
She saw the open windows of the sitting-room, the Nottingham lace
curtains stirring and billowing in the draft, and she caught sight of
Maria Macapa's towelled head as the Mexican maid-of-all-work went to and
fro in the suite, sweeping or carrying away the ashes. Occasionally in
the windows of the "Parlors" she beheld McTeague's rounded back as he
bent to his work. Sometimes, even, they saw each other and waved their
hands gayly in recognition.
By eleven o'clock Trina returned to the flat, her brown net
reticule--once her mother's--full of parcels. At once she set about
getting lunch--sausages, perhaps, with mashed potatoes; or last
evening's joint warmed over or made into a stew; chocolate, which
Trina adored, and a side dish or two--a salted herring or a couple of
artichokes or a salad. At half-past twelve the dentist came in from the
"Parlors," bringing with him the smell of creosote and of ether.
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