Block after block
of New York's side-streets are sunk thus in brown study.
"You mustn't be so ready to be put out over every little thing I say,
Clara. Is it anything wrong to want you up at the house just as often as
we can get you?"
"No, Sam; it ain't that."
"Well then, what is it?"
"Oh, what's the use beginning all that again? I want to begin to-night
where we usually leave off."
"Is it--is it something we've talked about before, Clara?"
"Yes--and no. We've talked so much and so long without ever getting
anywheres--what's the difference whether we've ever talked it before
or not?"
"You just wait, Clara; everything is going to come out fine for us."
Her upper lip lifted slightly. "Yes," she said; "I've heard that
before."
"We're going to be mighty happy some day, just the same, and don't you
let yourself forget it. We've got good times ahead."
"Oh dear!" she sighed out.
"What?"
"Nothing."
He patted her arm. "You'll never know, Clara, the torture it's been for
me even your going out those few times with Eddie Leonard has put me
through. You're mine, Clara; a hundred Eddies couldn't change that."
"Who said anybody wanted to change it?"
He patted her arm again very closely.
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