If it was her month in the dirty Harlem flat she'd be
spry enough. She knows what I mean whan I say that, and she knows she
better cut out this pouting. Quit breathing through your mouth or I'll
stick a cork in it."
"Aw, Jerry, she can't help that!"
"Cat got your tongue? Where's Cloonan?"
The child's little face quivered and screwed, each feature drawing
itself into position for tears. Her eyes disappeared, her nostrils
distended, her mouth opened to a quivering rectangle, and she fell into
silent weeping.
"Aw, Jerry--you--you scared her! Come here, darling; come here to me,
Maisie; come, dearie."
But the child slid past the extended arms, down the wooden steps, and
around a corner of the house, her arm held up across her eyes.
"Aw, Jerry, honest, you can be awful mean!"
"I'll get that out of her or know the reason why. They've poisoned her
against me, that's about how it is in a nutshell. I'll get that pouting
to be in that dirty Harlem hole with her mother and grandmother out of
her or know the reason why."
"She--"
"Look, this is the front hall. Guess this 'ain't got that sty in
Twenty-third Street beat some. Look! How do you like it? This way to the
parlor and dining-room.
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