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Updated: May 25, 2025
"I don't get you," she mused. "You're a queer kid. ". . . From the country?" "I suppose so," Cecille admitted. "I didn't use to think so. I used to think we were quite " "That'll do," cut in Felicity. "I get it from that much description. ". . . Raised strict?" "I guess so pretty strict." "Rigid church people?" "Yes." A little time of silence. "Gee, that's tough!"
And, somehow subdued: "They're very expensive." Broadway never knew anything about that courtship. But Felicity used to wake up, now and then, and hear the other girl crying softly in the night. It was a long bad period for Cecille. At first the birth of this wholly new thing within her baffled her own power to reason. She watched its mushroom growth with fascination, just a little aghast.
This without even turning from the mirror. Cecille failed to answer. She crossed the room and dropped heavily into a chair. "We're catching the three-thirty this afternoon for the West." Again silence for a while, and then a dry, strained question. "Aren't you afraid?" She'd made up her mind to ask at least that question. She had admitted to herself that she had to ask it.
She fairly sang it. "Dunham. Pig-iron Dunham. I knew if I waited I'd cop. Now watch me. Watch my dust!" Cecille wondered why she didn't pack her bag and get out. But she didn't. She stayed. And later, a little timidly, she inquired about Blair. "Perry Blair?" Felicity with a racing tongue had been describing how Dunham led her away from the near-accident. "Perry? Oh, he's a prize-fighter.
'At ten-thirty o'clock this morning when I stuck a pin into you, fitting that gown you have on, you cursed me. If I remember accurately you called me a damned clumsy little fool." " seven eight nine ten!" chanted Felicity joyously. "And out! What did she do?" And then, quite without any warning at all, came the break. It was like the shattering of brittle glass. Cecille rocked to crazy mirth.
And almost immediately a common need for the companionship of the other was born in both of them. Upon the boy's part it must have been the urge to carry on his courtship, even vicariously. Lonesomeness was the way Cecille explained it to herself until with the passage of a little time she could no longer tell herself that lie and believe it.
So when Cecille came in the next day, Saturday, at noon, and found Felicity with her bag packed, few words were necessary. She knew the moment had come. Cecille had tried often to imagine what that moment was going to be like. More than once she had dreaded that it would find her cheaply dramatic; that nervous sentiment would surprise her and break her down.
"He has to depend on the old man for his bank-roll. I just thought I'd tip you off." She didn't go again. She stopped wanting to go anywhere, even to the movies, for quite a while. And then, just at eleven one night, while Felicity was before the mirror preparing to go to work and wondering where Cecille could be, the latter came quietly in.
And with that business conference between Felicity and Fiegenspann began the revelation which during the months that followed Cecille watched in a kind of stricken suspense that must, it seems, have been childish anticipation in the beginning of the pitiless blast which would complete the other's sure destruction.
Under his bright regard Cecille stammered, and stammered a lie. "Yes," she said, not steadily, and very softly indeed. "Yes, my my lad." English nodded sagely. "Been worried about him lately, I suppose? Bothered by what folks are saying?" "I I haven't heard much," she said, and this was all the truth. "Don't you!" he advised her. "Don't you listen. And don't you believe, either."
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