Her pat answer to all inquiries was, “I let my sister Shari make me over,” while she kept from staring at her own reflection in the shiny shoes past her bare knees. I asked her to marry me, and she consented. I need a white man, if only to talk to; and it will be a god send to talk to someone of your intelligence. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. "These writer chaps are queer birds.
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