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special law book store on West Twenty-third Street,” he said. “In Manhattan. You’ll have to go there to get these.”

“And will they be the right books for the exam?”

“Sure. If you know the rudiments of corporate law and tort, then you will get through.”

“Is that book store open every day?”

“I think so. You’ll have to go and check it out, but I think so.”

As she nodded and tried to smile, he appeared even more preoccupied.

“But you can follow the lectures?”

“Of course,” she said. “Yes, of course.”

He put the notepad into his briefcase and turned away brusquely.

“Thank you,” she said, but he did not reply. Instead, he quickly left the hall. The porter was waiting to lock up when she pushed open the lecture-hall doors. She was the last to leave.

She asked Diana and Patty about West Twenty-third Street, showing them the full address. They explained to her that west meant west of Fifth Avenue and that the number she had been given signified that the store was between Sixth and Seventh avenues. They showed her a map, spreading it out on the kitchen table, amazed that Eilis had never been in Manhattan.

“It’s wonderful over there,” Diana said.

“Fifth Avenue is the most heavenly place,” Patty said. “I’d give anything to live there. I’d love to marry a rich man with a mansion on Fifth Avenue.”

“Or even a poor man,” Diana said, “as long as he had a mansion.”

They told her how to take the subway to West Twenty-third Street, and she decided she would go when she had her next half-day free from Bartocci’s.

When the prospect of Friday night arose Eilis could not face asking Miss McAdam or Sheila Heffernan if they were going to the dance at the hall and she knew that it would be too disloyal to go with Patty and Diana, and maybe too expensive as well, since they went to a restaurant first and since she would need to buy new clothes to match the style that they were wearing.

On Friday night after work she came to supper with a handkerchief in her hand, warning the others not to come too close in case they caught the chill from her. She blew her nose loudly and sniffled as best she could several times throughout the meal. She did not care whether they believed her or not, but having a cold, she thought, would be the best excuse for her not to go to the dance. She knew as well that it would encourage Mrs. Kehoe to discuss winter ailments, which was one of the landlady’s favourite subjects.

“Chilblains, now,” she said, “you’d want to be very careful with the chilblains. When I was your age they were the death of me.”

“I’d say in that store,” Miss McAdam said to Eilis, “you could get all sorts of germs.”

“You can get germs in offices as well,” Mrs. Kehoe said, taking in Eilis with a glance as she spoke, making clear that she understood Miss McAdam’s intention to belittle her because she worked in a store.

“But you’d never know who’d—”

“That’s enough now, Miss McAdam,” Mrs. Kehoe said. “And maybe it’s best early bed for all of us in this cold weather.”

“I was just going to say that I heard there are coloured women going into Bartocci’s,” Miss McAdam said.

For a moment no one spoke.

“I heard that too,” Sheila Heffernan said after a while in a low voice.

Eilis looked down at her plate.

“Well, we mightn’t like them but the Negro men fought in the overseas war, didn’t they?” Mrs. Kehoe asked. “And they were killed just the same as our men. I always say that. No one minded them when they needed them.”

“But I wouldn’t like—” Miss McAdam began.

“We know what you wouldn’t like,” Mrs. Kehoe interrupted.

“I wouldn’t like to have to serve them in a store,” Miss McAdam insisted.

“God, I wouldn’t either,” Patty said.

“And is it their money you wouldn’t like?” Mrs. Kehoe asked.

“They’re very nice,” Eilis said. “And some of them have beautiful clothes.”

“So it’s true, then?” Sheila Heffernan asked. “I thought it was a joke. Well, that’s it, then. I’ll pass Bartocci’s, all right, but it’ll be on the other side of the street.”

Eilis suddenly felt brave. “I’ll tell Mr. Bartocci that. He’ll be very upset, Sheila. You and your friend here are famous for your style, especially for the ladders in your stockings and the fussy old cardigans you wear.”

“That’s enough from the whole lot of you,” Mrs. Kehoe said. “I intend to eat the rest of