I felt sure the adjutant thought I must have been in prison, yet she treated me very nicely and wished me luck. My prospects were not bright, but nevertheless I was relieved to go. Institutional life, even at its very best, weighs heavily upon me. I went back to the day room to get my brown paper parcel. The little rosy-cheeked lieutenant, who had admitted me the previous night, was cutting out overalls and Mental Millie was measuring the stuff. The Madonna of the club foot had gone upstairs to her two year old baby and none of my other friends could be seen. Only the hunchback girl was there, still reading by the window. I crossed the room with its sad green walls and hopeless oilcloth and took a last look at the anemones. Then glancing over her shoulder I said goodbye. It gave me a queer sensation when the title of her book stared up at me. She was immersed in George Gissing’s The Odd Women .