One hot night last spring, after waiting fruitlessly for a call
from my then lover, with whom I had quarrelled the same afternoon,
and finding one of my black moods on me, I flung out of my lonely
room on the ninth floor (unlucky number) in a hotel in lower Fifth
Avenue and rushed into the streets of the Village, feeling bad.
Letty Fox is hunting for a husband. Her picaresque adventures are
brilliantly described in this imaginative portrayal of a woman who
might have been independent, but chose otherwise.
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