Drouet did not call that evening. After receiving the letter, he had laid aside all thought of Carrie for the time being and was floating around having what he considered a gay time. On this particular evening he dined at "Rector's," a restaurant of some local fame, which occupied a basement at Clark and Monroe Streets. There--after he visited the resort of Fitzgerald and Moy's in Adams Street, opposite the imposing Federal Building. There he leaned over the splendid bar and swallowed a glass of plain whiskey and purchased a couple of cigars, one of which he lighted. This to him represented in part high life--a fair sample of what the whole must be. Drouet was not a drinker in excess. He was not a moneyed man. He only craved the best, as his mind conceived it, and such doings seemed to him a part of the best. Rector's, with its polished marble walls and floor, its profusion of lights, its show of china and silverware, and, above all, its reputation as a resort for actors and professional men, seemed to him the proper place for a successful man to go. He loved fine clothes, good eating, and particularly the company and acquaintanceship of successful men. When dining, it was a source of keen satisfaction to him to know that Joseph Jefferson was wont to come to this same place, or that Henry E. Dixie, a well-known performer of the day, was then only a few tables off. At Rector's he could always obtain this satisfaction, for there one could encounter politicians, brokers, actors, some rich young "rounders" of the town, all eating and drinking amid a buzz of popular commonplace conversation.

"That's So-and-so over there," was a common remark of these gentlemen among themselves, particularly among those who had not yet reached, but hoped to do so, the dazzling height which money to dine here lavishly represented.

"You don't say so," would be the reply.

"Why, yes, didn't you know that? Why, he's manager of the Grand Opera House."

When these things would fall upon Drouet's ears, he would straighten himself a little more stiffly and eat with solid comfort. If he had any vanity, this augmented it, and if he had any ambition, this stirred it. He would be able to flash a roll of greenbacks too some day. As it was, he could eat where THEY did.

His preference for Fitzgerald and Moy's Adams Street place was another yard off the same cloth. This was really a gorgeous saloon from a Chicago standpoint. Like Rector's, it was also ornamented with a blaze of incandescent lights, held in handsome chandeliers. The floors were of brightly coloured tiles, the walls a composition of rich, dark, polished wood, which reflected the light, and coloured stucco-work, which gave the place a very sumptuous appearance. The long bar was a blaze of lights, polished woodwork, coloured and cut glassware, and many fancy bottles. It was a truly swell saloon, with rich screens, fancy wines, and a line of bar goods unsurpassed in the country.

At Rector's, Drouet had met Mr. G. W. Hurstwood, manager of Fitzgerald and Moy's. He had been pointed out as a very successful and well-known man about town. Hurstwood looked the part, for, besides being slightly under forty, he had a good, stout constitution, an active manner, and a solid, substantial air, which was composed in part of his fine clothes, his clean linen, his jewels, and, above all, his own sense of his importance. Drouet immediately conceived a notion of him as being some one worth knowing, and was glad not only to meet him, but to visit the Adams Street bar thereafter whenever he wanted a drink or a cigar.

Hurstwood was an interesting character after his kind. He was shrewd and clever in many little things, and capable of creating a good impression. His managerial position was fairly important--a kind of stewardship which was imposing, but lacked financial control. He had risen by perseverance and industry, through long years of service, from the position of barkeeper in a commonplace saloon to his present altitude. He had a little office in the place, set off in polished cherry and grill-work, where he kept, in a roll-top desk, the rather simple accounts of the place--supplies ordered and needed. The chief executive and financial functions devolved upon the owners--Messrs. Fitzgerald and Moy--and upon a cashier who looked after the money taken in.

For the most part he lounged about, dressed in excellent tailored suits of imported goods, a solitaire ring, a fine blue diamond in his tie, a striking vest of some new pattern, and a watch-chain of solid gold, which held a charm of rich design, and a watch of the latest make and engraving. He knew by name, and could greet personally with a "Well, old fellow," hundreds of actors, merchants, politicians, and the general run of successful characters about town, and it was part of his success to do so. He had a finely graduated scale of informality and friendship, which improved from the "How do you do?" addressed to the fifteen-dollar-a-week clerks and office attaches, who, by long frequenting of the place, became aware of his position, to the "Why, old man, how are you?" which he addressed to those noted or rich individuals who knew him and were inclined to be friendly.

There was a class, however, too rich, too famous, or too successful, with whom he could not attempt any familiarity of address, and with these he was professionally tactful, assuming a grave and dignified attitude, paying them the deference which would win their good feeling without in the least compromising his own bearing and opinions. There were, in the last place, a few good followers, neither rich nor poor, famous, nor yet remarkably successful, with whom he was friendly on the score of good-fellowship. These were the kind of men with whom he would converse longest and most seriously. He loved to go out and have a good time once in a while--to go to the races, the theatres, the sporting entertainments at some of the clubs. He kept a horse and neat trap, had his wife and two children, who were well established in a neat house on the North Side near Lincoln Park, and was altogether a very acceptable individual of our great American upper class--the first grade below the luxuriously rich.

Hurstwood liked Drouet. The latter's genial nature and dressy appearance pleased him. He knew that Drouet was only a travelling salesman--and not one of many years at that--but the firm of Bartlett, Caryoe & Company was a large and prosperous house, and Drouet stood well. Hurstwood knew Caryoe quite well, having drunk a glass now and then with him, in company with several others, when the conversation was general. Drouet had what was a help in his business, a moderate sense of humour, and could tell a good story when the occasion required. He could talk races with Hurstwood, tell interesting incidents concerning himself and his experiences with women, and report the state of trade in the cities which he visited, and so managed to make himself almost invariably agreeable. To-night he was particularly so, since his report to the company had been favourably commented upon, his new samples had been satisfactorily selected, and his trip marked out for the next six weeks.

"Why, hello, Charlie, old man," said Hurstwood, as Drouet came in that evening about eight o'clock. "How goes it?" The room was crowded.

Drouet shook hands, beaming good nature, and they strolled towards the bar.

"Oh, all right."

"I haven't seen you in six weeks. When did you get in?"

"Friday," said Drouet. "Had a fine trip."

"Glad of it," said Hurstwood, his black eyes lit with a warmth which half displaced the cold make-believe that usually dwelt in them. "What are you going to take?" he added, as the barkeeper, in snowy jacket and tie, leaned toward them from behind the bar.

"Old Pepper," said Drouet.

"A little of the same for me," put in Hurstwood.

"How long are you in town this time?" inquired Hurstwood.

"Only until Wednesday. I'm going up to St. Paul."

"George Evans was in here Saturday and said he saw you in Milwaukee last week."

"Yes, I saw George," returned Drouet. "Great old boy, isn't he? We had quite a time there together."

The barkeeper was setting out the glasses and bottle before them, and they now poured out the draught as they talked, Drouet filling his to within a third of full, as was considered proper, and Hurstwood taking the barest suggestion of whiskey and modifying it with seltzer.

"What's become of Caryoe?" remarked Hurstwood. "I haven't seen him around here in two weeks."

"Laid up, they say," exclaimed Drouet. "Say, he's a gouty old boy!"

"Made a lot of money in his time, though, hasn't he?"

"Yes, wads of it," returned Drouet. "He won't live much longer. Barely comes down to the office now."

"Just one boy, hasn't he?" asked Hurstwood.

"Yes, and a swift-pacer," laughed Drouet.

"I guess he can't hurt the business very much, though, with the other members all there."

"No, he can't injure that any, I guess."

Hurstwood was standing, his coat open, his thumbs in his pockets, the light on his jewels and rings relieving them with agreeable distinctness. He was the picture of fastidious comfort.

To one not inclined to drink, and gifted with a more serious turn of mind, such a bubbling, chattering, glittering chamber must ever seem an anomaly, a strange commentary on nature and life. Here come the moths, in endless procession, to bask in the light of the flame. Such conversation as one may hear would not warrant a commendation of the scene upon intellectual grounds. It seems plain that schemers would choose more sequestered quarters to arrange their plans, that politicians would not gather here in company to discuss anything save formalities, where the sharp-eared may hear, and it would scarcely be justified on the score of thirst, for the majority of those who frequent these more gorgeous places have no craving for liquor. Nevertheless, the fact that here men gather, here chatter, here love to pass and rub elbows, must be explained upon some grounds. It must be that a strange bundle of passions and vague desires give rise to such a curious social institution or it would not be.

Drouet, for one, was lured as much by his longing for pleasure as by his desire to shine among his betters. The many friends he met here dropped in because they craved, without, perhaps, consciously analysing it, the company, the glow, the atmosphere which they found. One might take it, after all, as an augur of the better social order, for the things which they satisfied here, though sensory, were not evil. No evil could come out of the contemplation of an expensively decorated chamber. The worst effect of such a thing would be, perhaps, to stir up in the material-minded an ambition to arrange their lives upon a similarly splendid basis. In the last analysis, that would scarcely be called the fault of the decorations, but rather of the innate trend of the mind. That such a scene might stir the less expensively dressed to emulate the more expensively dressed could scarcely be laid at the door of anything save the false ambition of the minds of those so affected. Remove the element so thoroughly and solely complained of--liquor--and there would not be one to gainsay the qualities of beauty and enthusiasm which would remain. The pleased eye with which our modern restaurants of fashion are looked upon is proof of this assertion.

Yet, here is the fact of the lighted chamber, the dressy, greedy company, the small, self-interested palaver, the disorganized, aimless, wandering mental action which it represents--the love of light and show and finery which, to one outside, under the serene light of the eternal stars, must seem a strange and shiny thing. Under the stars and sweeping night winds, what a lamp-flower it must bloom; a strange, glittering night-flower, odour-yielding, insect-drawing, insect-infested rose of pleasure.

"See that fellow coming in there?" said Hurstwood, glancing at a gentleman just entering, arrayed in a high hat and Prince Albert coat, his fat cheeks puffed and red as with good eating.

"No, where?" said Drouet.

"There," said Hurstwood, indicating the direction by a cast of his eye, "the man with the silk hat."

"Oh, yes," said Drouet, now affecting not to see. "Who is he?"

"That's Jules Wallace, the spiritualist."

Drouet followed him with his eyes, much interested.

"Doesn't look much like a man who sees spirits, does he?" said Drouet.

"Oh, I don't know," returned Hurstwood. "He's got the money, all right," and a little twinkle passed over his eyes.

"I don't go much on those things, do you?" asked Drouet.

"Well, you never can tell," said Hurstwood. "There may be something to it. I wouldn't bother about it myself, though. By the way," he added, "are you going anywhere to-night?"

"'The Hole in the Ground,'" said Drouet, mentioning the popular farce of the time.

"Well, you'd better be going. It's half after eight already," and he drew out his watch.

The crowd was already thinning out considerably--some bound for the theatres, some to their clubs, and some to that most fascinating of all the pleasures--for the type of man there represented, at least--the ladies.

"Yes, I will," said Drouet.

"Come around after the show. I have something I want to show you," said Hurstwood.

"Sure," said Drouet, elated.

"You haven't anything on hand for the night, have you?" added Hurstwood.

"Not a thing."

"Well, come round, then."

"I struck a little peach coming in on the train Friday," remarked Drouet, by way of parting. "By George, that's so, I must go and call on her before I go away."

"Oh, never mind her," Hurstwood remarked.

"Say, she was a little dandy, I tell you," went on Drouet confidentially, and trying to impress his friend.

"Twelve o'clock," said Hurstwood.

"That's right," said Drouet, going out.

Thus was Carrie's name bandied about in the most frivolous and gay of places, and that also when the little toiler was bemoaning her narrow lot, which was almost inseparable from the early stages of this, her unfolding fate.

杜洛埃那天晚上没有去找嘉莉。收到嘉莉那封信后，他就暂时把关于嘉莉的念头丢到脑后。他在城里到处闲逛，照他自己看来，过得很开心。那天晚上，他在雷克脱饭店吃了晚饭。那是一家在当地很有点名片的饭店，占据了克拉克街和门罗街转角处的那幢大楼的底层。然后他又到亚当街的费莫酒家去，那酒家在宏伟的联邦大厦对面。在那里，他斜靠在豪华的柜台上，喝了一杯清威士忌，买了两根雪茄烟，其中的一支他当场点着了。这一些是他心目中的上流社会高雅生活的缩影--所谓管中窥豹，可见一斑，这就算领略了上流社会的生活了。

杜洛埃不是嗜酒如命的人，也不是富人。他只是按照他的理解，追求着高雅生活。目前这些享受在他看来就算得上高级了。他认为雷克脱饭店是功成名就的人应该光顾的地方，因为那里不仅有光滑的大理石墙壁和地板，有无数灯火和值得炫耀的瓷器和银器，更重要的是，有名演员和企业家光顾的名声：他喜欢美食华服，也喜欢和名人要人结识为伍。吃饭时，如果他听说约瑟夫·杰佛生也常到这家饭店吃饭，或者听说当时正走红的演员亨利·易·狄克西就在旁边的餐桌，和他相隔没有几张桌子，这会给他带来极大的满足。在雷克脱饭店，他经常可以得到这类的满足，因为人们可以见到政界要人、经纪人，演员之类和城里那些年轻有钱的花花公子们在那里吃喝，聊天，说些通常的热门话题。

“那是某某，就在那里。”这些先生们相互之间也经常这么评论，特别是那些渴望有朝一日达到人生的巅峰，可以到这里花天酒地的人们爱这么说。

“真的？”对方就会这么回答。

“当然是真的。你还不知道？他是大歌剧院经理。”当这些话落到杜洛埃的耳朵里，他的腰板就挺得更直了，吃得心花怒放。如果说他有虚荣心，这些话就增加了他的虚荣心；如果他有点野心，这些话便使他的野心激发起来：会有那么一天，他也能亮出满把满把的钞票。真的，他要在这些要人名流现在吃饭的地方吃饭。

他喜欢光顾亚当街上的费莫酒家，也是出于同一个原因。

以芝加哥的水平看，这实在是一家豪华大酒家。像雷克脱饭店一样，店堂里一盏盏美丽的枝形大吊灯大放光明，把酒家点缀得艳丽典雅。地上铺的是色彩鲜艳的瓷砖，墙壁则是用彩色涂料和贵重的深色木料镶嵌而成，涂了清漆的木料在灯光反射下熠熠生辉，彩色涂料则显得豪华富丽。一排电灯照在抛光的长酒柜台上，上面陈列着彩色雕花的玻璃器皿和许多形状奇特的酒瓶。这真是第一流的酒家，具有昂贵的帘幕，珍奇的名酒，和在全国堪称一绝的酒柜器皿。

在雷克脱饭店，杜洛埃结识了费莫酒家的经理乔·威·赫斯渥。有人在背后说他是个成功人物，很有名气，交际很广。

赫斯渥看上去也像个春风得意的人物。他四十不到，体格健壮，举止活跃，一副殷实富有的气派。这种气派部分是由于他服装考究，衬衫干净，身上珠光宝气，不过最重要的是由于他自知身价。杜洛埃马上意识到这是个值得结识的人物。他不仅很高兴认识他，而且从那以后，每当他想来杯酒，或者来根雪茄时，他一定光顾亚当街的这家酒吧。

可以说，赫斯渥天生是个十分有趣的人物。在许多小事上，他精明干练，能够给人留下好印象。他的经理职位是相当重要的--总管一切，发号施令，不过没有经济实权。他是靠坚持不懈，勤勤恳恳起家的。从一个普通酒店的酒保，经过多年的努力，升到他目前的职位。在这个酒家，他有一个小办公室，是用抛光的樱桃木和花格架隔出的小间。里面有一张翻盖写字桌，保存着酒店的简单账目，不外乎是已订购或还需订购的食物和杂品。主要的行政和财务职责是两个店主费茨杰拉德和莫埃加上一个管收钱的现金出纳负责的。

大部分时间里，他在店里悠闲地走动，身上穿的是用进口衣料精工制作的高级服装，戴着单粒钻石戒指，领带上别着一颗漂亮的蓝钻石，引人注目的新潮西装背心，一条足金表链，表链上挂着个造型精巧的小饰物和一个最新款式的挂表。他认识成百上千演员、商人、政界人物和一般吃得开的成功人物，叫得出他们的名字，并能用“喂，老兄”和他们亲热地寒暄，这是他获得成功的部分原因。他待人接物，严格掌握亲热随便的分寸。对于那些周薪１５元左右，经常光顾他的酒家因而知道他在店里的地位的小职员和跟班，他用“你好”来打招呼；对于那些认识他并愿意和他交往的名人和有钱人，他用“怎么样，老兄，还好吧”来打招呼。不过对那些太有钱，太有名，或者太成功之辈，他不敢用亲密随便的口气称呼。跟这些人打交道，他使出职业上的圆活手段，用一种庄重和尊严的态度，对他们表示敬意。这种敬意既可赢得他们的好感，又不损他自己的举止和自尊。最后，有那么几个好主顾，既不穷又不富，有名气，又不太成功。和这些人他用的是一种老朋友的友好态度，和他们长时间的恳切交谈。他喜欢隔些天就出去散散心--去赛马场，剧院，参加某些俱乐部的娱乐活动。他养着一匹马，还有一辆轻便马车。他已婚，有了两个孩子，住在靠近林肯公园的北区一幢精美的房子里。总的来说，是我们美国上流社会中一个不讨人厌的人物，比豪富略逊一筹。

赫斯渥喜欢杜洛埃。杜洛埃为人和气，衣着讲究，这些都很合他的意。他知道杜洛埃只是个旅行推销员--而且干那一行的时间不长--但是巴加公司是一家生意兴隆的大公司，而且杜洛埃在公司里和老板的关系很好。赫斯渥和巴加公司的老板之一加里欧很熟，不时和他以及别的人在一块儿喝一杯，聊聊天。杜洛埃有几分幽默，这对他干的那行大有帮助。

在必要的场合，他会说个有趣的故事。和赫斯渥在一起时，他聊赛马，聊些自己的趣事和风流艳遇，聊他到过的那些城的生意情况。可以说，他几乎总是很讨人喜欢。今晚他特别讨人喜欢。他给公司的报告得到了好评，新选的样其他很满意，接下来的六周旅行推销行程也已安排好了。

“喂，你好啊，查理老弟。”当杜洛埃那天晚上８点来到酒馆时，赫斯渥和他打招呼。“情况怎么样啊？”酒店里高朋满座。

杜洛埃和他握手，露出宽厚和气的笑容。他们一起朝卖酒的柜台踱去。

“还不错。”

“我有六个星期没见到你了。什么时候回来的？”“星期五回来的，”杜洛埃说，"这趟旅行收获不校”“真为你高兴，”赫斯渥的黑眼睛带着温暖关切的善意，一改平日那种冷漠和客气的眼神。“今天想喝点什么？”他加了一句。身着白色西装和领带的酒保从柜台后面向他们倾过身来。

“陈胡椒威士忌，”杜洛埃说。

“我也来一点，”赫斯渥接口说。

“这一次能在城里住多久？”他问道。

“只能住到星期三。我马上要到圣保罗去。”“乔治·伊文思星期六还在这里。他说上星期在密瓦珙城看见你了。”“是啊，我见到乔治了，”杜洛埃回答。“他人真不错，对不对？在密瓦珙我们一起痛痛快快地玩了一回。”酒保在他们面前摆上了玻璃杯和酒瓶。他们俩一边聊一边斟上了酒。杜洛埃给自己的酒杯只斟了七八分满，他认为这样举止得体。赫斯渥只是象征性地倒了一点威士忌，又搀了不少矿泉水。

“加里埃最近怎么样？”赫斯渥问道。“他有两星期没到这里来了。”“正卧床呢，”杜洛埃叫了起来。“他们都说这位老先生在闹痛风呢。”“不过他当年发了不少财，是吗？”“没错，赚了一大把呢，”杜洛埃回答。“不过他的日子不多了，现在难得到公司写字间转一下。”“他只有一个儿子，是不是？”赫斯渥问道。

“是啊，而且是个浪荡子。”杜洛埃说着笑了起来。

“不过，有其他的股东在，我看生意不会受多少影响。”“不会，我想一点也不会受影响的。”赫斯渥站在那里，外套敞开着，大拇指插在背心口袋里，钻石饰物和戒指在灯光的照耀下发出悦目的光采。一眼可以看出，他生活舒适进究。

对一个不爱喝酒，天性严肃的人来说，这么一个喧闹沸腾、人声嘈杂、灯火通明的地方是一种反常事物，违背了自然和生活的一般常规，就好像一大群飞蛾，成群结队地飞到火光中来取暖。在这里能听到的谈话不会增加人的知识，所以在这方面，这地方一无可取之处。显然，阴谋家会选个比这平静的地方去策划他们的阴谋。政界人物除了交际应酬，不会在这里聚集商量要事，因为隔座有耳。酒瘾这个理由也几乎不能解释人们为什么聚集此处，因为光顾那些豪华酒店的大多数人并不贪杯。但是事实是人们聚到了这里：他们喜欢在这里聊天，还喜欢在人丛中走动，和别人摩肩擦臂而过。这么做总有一些道理的。一定有种种古怪的嗜好和莫名的欲望，产生了酒店这种奇怪的社交场所。不然的话，酒店这种玩意儿就不会存在了。

拿杜洛埃来说，他来这里，不单纯是为了寻欢作乐，也是为了能跻身在境遇比他强的人们中间摆摆阔。他在这里遇到的许多朋友也许自己也没有下意识地分析过，他们来这里是渴望这里的社交，灯光和气氛。毕竟，人们可以把到这里来看作是领略上流社会生活。他们到这里来，追求的虽然是感官的满足，毕竟算不得邪恶。期望到一间装饰豪华的房子来玩玩，不会产生多少坏处。这类事最大的坏影响也许是在物质欲强烈的人身上激起一种过同样奢华生活的野心。归根到底，这也怪不得豪华布置的本身，要怪得怪人的天性。这种场合诱使衣着一般的人眼红衣着阔气的人，于是他们也想穿阔气衣服，不过这怪不得旁的，只能怪那些受了影响的人不该有这些不实际的野心。把酒这个遭人非议和怪罪的因素去掉，那么没有人会否认酒店具有华丽和热情两大气质。我们现代时髦的大饭店以其赏心悦目而大得青睐，就是明证。

然而，这些明亮的店堂，穿着华丽的贪婪人群，浅薄自私的聊天，和这一切反映的混乱迷茫和喱徨的精神状态，都是出于对灯光，排场和华服美饰的爱慕。对一个置身于永恒宁静的星光下的局外人来说，这一切一定显得光怪陆离。在星光下，酒店就像一朵灯光构成的鲜花，在夜风里盛开，一种只在夜间开放的奇异璀璨的花朵，一朵散发着芬芳，招引着昆虫，又被昆虫侵害的欢乐玫瑰。

“你看到那边刚进来的人吗？”赫斯渥朝那个刚进来的人瞥了一眼。那人戴着礼帽，穿着双排扣长礼服，他的鼓鼓的胖脸由于生活优裕而显得红光满面。

“没看见。在哪里？”杜洛埃问。

“就在那里，”赫斯渥说着用眼光扫了一下那个方向，“那个戴绸礼帽的。”“喔，不错，”杜洛埃说，他现在装着没朝那里看，“他是谁？”“他叫朱尔斯·华莱士，是个招魂专家。”杜洛埃用眼光看着那人的背影，大感兴趣。

“他看上去不像是个和鬼魂打交道的人呀，你说呢？”杜洛埃说道。

“这个我也不懂，”赫斯渥答道，“不过他赚了大钱，这点可不假。”他说着对杜洛埃眨了一下眼睛。

“我对这种事不太相信，你呢？”杜洛埃问。

“这种事你没法说，”赫斯渥答道，“也许有一定的道理。不过我自己是不会操这个心的。顺便问问，”他又加了一句，“今晚你要上哪里去吗？”“我要去看《地洞》，”杜洛埃说道。他指的是当时正上演的一个通俗闹剧。

“那你该走了，已经８点半了，”他掏出了挂表说。

酒店的顾客已稀落了：有些去剧场，有些去俱乐部，有些去找女人--各种娱乐中最有吸引力的，至少是对于酒店顾客这一类人来说是如此。

“是啊，我要走了，”杜洛埃说。

“看完戏再过来坐坐，我有些东西要给你看看，”赫斯渥说。

“一定来，”杜洛埃高兴地说。

“你今天夜里没有什么约会吧，”赫斯渥又问了一句。

“没有。”

“那就一定来埃”

“星期五回来的火车上我结识了一个小美人，”杜洛埃在分手时说道，“天哪，真是可爱。我走之前，一定要去看看她。”“喂，别去想她了，”赫斯渥说道。

“真的，她真是漂亮，不骗你，”杜洛埃推心置腹地说道，竭力想给他的朋友留下深刻印象。

“１２点来吧，”赫斯渥说道。

“一定，”杜洛埃答应着走了。

嘉莉的名字就这样在这寻欢作乐的轻浮场所被人提起。

与此同时，这小女工正在悲叹自己苦命。在她正在展开的人生初期，这种悲叹将几乎如影附身地伴随着她。