It was a black night and I was escorting a girl down Washington Street toward Haymarket Square. The buildings were dark, but the sidewalk was crowded. I was trying to keep I. and B. in sight as they pushed their way along in front of us. They hurried us uncomfortably. As rough men jousted us, my companion very simply put her gloved hand in mine. It pleased me very much. In fact, I seemed quite fond of her, though I did not know who she was and cannot identify her now. I think she wore a brown coat and I remember most vividly her tan colored glove with black stitching on the back. Suddenly here came a shock like a quick wakening, although I was not really awake, and lo, I was standing indoors, daylight was streaming through the windows, and in my right hand, which was still extended, were the fragments of a crushed coffee cup. I felt hurt and dazed.