“When we go indoors I will show you the offers I have refused,” she answered. He savored the last solo, the coda. Everybody talking of you. She did not open the Bible but laid it on the edge of the bed, knelt and rested her forehead upon the worn leather cover. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. All right! I’m off. Having secured this implement, he burst from his conductor, and, leaping into the hatch, as clowns generally spring into the clockfaces, when in pursuit of harlequin in the pantomime,—that is, back foremost,— broke into a fit of loud and derisive laughter, kicking his heels merrily all the time against the boards. We LIKED each other well enough.
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