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"And I'm telling you the truth," Blondie declares. "Don't think it's wrong to kill, because when you kill, it's always out of anger. But stealing Bah!" This profound piece of reasoning meets with unanimous assent. After a short silence while he meditates, a colonel ventures his opinion: "Everything is all right according to something, see? That is, everything has its circumstances, see?
"Of course there's no use denying it, I've stolen too," Blondie confesses. "But ask any one of my partners how much profit I've got. I'm a big spender and my Purse is my friends' to have a good time on! I have a better time if I drink myself senseless than I would have sending money back home to the old woman!"
And he released his hold on Etta to seize her. "Come right along, my lovey-dovey dear." Susan drew away; she was looking at him with terror and repulsion. The icy blast swept down the street, sawed into her flesh savagely. "I'll give you five," said the drunken man. "Come along." He grabbed her arm, waved his other hand at Etta. "So long, blondie. 'Nother time. Good luck."
Seated on the bar, she swung her legs; at every swing, the toes of her shoes touched Demetrio's back. "Yes: I'm Demetrio Macias!" he said, scarcely turning toward her. Indifferently, she continued to swing her legs, displaying her blue stockings with ostentation. "Hey, War Paint, what are you doing here? Step down and have a drink!" said the man called Blondie.
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