Glancing from his cab window one
such midnight, an inarticulate expression of that fear must have crept
over and sickened Mr. Herman Loeb. He reached out and placed his
enveloping hand over that of his wife,
"Well, Sadie, you take good care of yourself, girl. No matter how we
decide to--to end this thing, remember you're my wife--yet."
"Yes, Herman," said Mrs. Loeb, through a gulp.
"Don't stint, and remember how easily you get cold from draughts."
"I won't. I will."
"If you find yourself too crowded in that room with your friend, get a
better one farther away from the theaters, where it isn't so
noisy--maybe by yourself."
"I'll see."
"You won't be afraid to go back to that room now, with Sylvette still at
the show?"
"N-no."
"If I was you--now mind, I'm only suggesting it--but if I was you I
wouldn't be in such a hurry about getting back in that roof show, Sadie.
Maybe in a few days something better may show up or--or you'll change
your mind or something."
"I gotta get back to work to keep from thinking. Anyway, I don't want
to be sponging on you any longer than I can help."
"You're my wife, aren't you?"
She sat, a small cold huddle in the center of the cab seat, toward him
her quivering face flashing out as street lamps bounced past.
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