wandering energies and a
realization of his victory in the courtroom brought him a belated glow.
He was young, on an upgrade, able to command success.

Hazlitt felt a sudden lusty kinship toward the swarm of bodies
unwinding itself through the snowfall. A contact with other ... a
pleasant, comforting contact. What more was life, anyway? A warmth in
the heart that came from the knowledge of work well and honestly done.
Look the world squarely in the eyes and say, "You have no secrets and I
have no secrets. We're friends."

"Shall we go to your office, Mr. Hazlitt?"

Why there? Hazlitt smiled at the young woman. She was free. He patted
the gloved hand on his arm and was surprised to see her eyes grow alive
with tears.

"I would like to talk to you--now that it's over. I feel lost. Really."
She returned his smile as one determined to be brave, though lost.

The snow hid the buildings and left their window lights drifting. Faces
passing smiled as if saying, "Hello, we're all together in the same snow
with no secrets from each other.... All friends".... Hazlitt walked with
the girl through the streets. The traffic and the crowds were intimate
friends and he spoke to them by patting Pauline's hand. An
all's-well-with-the-world pat.

"Eighth floor, please...."

The elevator jiggled to a stop and they stepped into the corridor.
Scrawny-faced women were crawling patiently down the floor. They slopped
wet brushes before them, wrung mops out over pails, and crawled an inch
farther down the floor. Hazlitt smiled. This, too, was a part of
life--keeping the floors of the building scrubbed. He won law cases.
Old women scrubbed floors. It fitted into an orderly pattern with a
great meaning to its order. He paused for a moment to admire the
cleanliness of the washed surface. Homage to the work of others--of old
women on their knees scrubbing floors.

"Well, it's all over, Miss Pollard."

She was sitting beside the desk where she had sat the first time they
had discussed her defense. Hazlitt, unloading his brief-case, looked at
her. Uncommonly pretty. Trusting eyes. What a rotten fellow, the
interne!

"I don't know why I wanted to come here." Pauline's eyes stared sadly
about the room. "I'm free, but ..." She covered her face and wept.

"Now, now, Miss Pollard!"

"Oh, it's still awful."

"You'll forget soon."

"I'll go away. Somewhere. Alone." A louder sob.

"Please don't cry."

Hazlitt watched her tenderly. The we