And I d-don't pretend. Connie knows I haven't a c-cent in the world
except what poor mother sneaks out of the housekeeping. But I'm s-sick
of living as I've done--always grinding, always afraid of everything.
If I c-can't have my fun out of life I d-don't want to live at all.
I'm not going to Heaven to make up for it--Mr. Ricardo has just told us
that--so what's the use? You've g-got your work and that satisfies
you. Mine doesn't satisfy me. So when you t-talk about me--you're
just t-talking through your hat."
Miss Edwards threw up her hands in mock horror.
"Oh, my angel child, what a temper! And to think I nearly married him!"
She choked with laughter. And underneath the thin flooring, as though
roused by her irreverent merriment, the big car shook itself awake with
a roar and splutter of indignation. But the sliding doors were thrown
open, and its rage died down at the prospect of release. It began to
purr complacently, greedily.
It was strange how the sound quieted them. They looked towards the
window as though for the first time they were aware of something
outside that came to them from beyond the low, confining roofs--a
spring wind blowing from far-off places.
"Six cylinder," Cosgrave muttered with feverish eyes. "Do you know, if
I had that thing living under me I'd--I'd go off with it one night, and
I'd go on and on and never come back."
Connie Edwards patted his head. She winked at Francey, but Francey was
looking at Robert's sullen back.
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