At eight o’clock Dot was awake. She reached over to the table where her
pocketbook lay. Powder, rouge, and lipstick in quick succession. You
couldn’t tell, she might get a visitor even at this hour. She ran the
comb through her hair swiftly. Pretty good now. Let the world come!
The woman on the next bed stared at her. “Have a bad time?” she asked.
Dot’s brows wrinkled thoughtfully. “Not bad,” she said. “Of course it
hurts, but it ain’t what it’s supposed to be. Gee, I thought it’d be
hell. No, it ain’t bad. It’s kind of--kind of like a cramp!”