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A dissolute father and uncle, dissolute forbears, corrupt blood weakened by intermarriage, what hope was there? Only one the rich, fiery blood of the Calabrian mother. But why had the chap come to America? Why not England or the Riviera, where rank, even if shorn of its prerogatives, is still treated respectfully? But America! Cutty's head went up.
But in none of these pictures could he hold her; she insisted upon returning to her kitchen to fry bacon and eggs. Then came a twisted thought, rejected only to return; a surprising thought, so alluring that the sense of shame, of chivalry, could not press it back. Cutty's words began to flow into one ear and out of the other, without sense.
Nature perhaps she was relenting a little, perhaps she saw that humanity was sliding down the scale, withering, and a bit of extra sunshine would serve to check the descension and breed a little optimism. Cutty's study. The sunlight, thrown westward, turned windows and roofs and towers into incomparable bijoux.
Cutty's heart, which had bumped along an astonishing number of million times in fifty-two years, registered a memorable bump against his ribs. The touch of her soft arms and the faint, indescribable perfume which emanates from a dainty woman's hair thrilled him beyond any thrill he had ever known. For Kitty's mother had never put her arms round old Cutty's neck.
Cutty's narrative, which she had pretended to believe, had set this man in the middle class. Never in this world. There was only one middle class out of which such a personality might, and often did, emerge the American middle class. In Europe, never. No peasant blood, no middle-class corpuscle, stirred in this man's veins. The ancient boyar looked down at her. "Play!" said Kitty.
By and by Kitty looked up into Hawksley's face. He was asleep. She got up carefully, lightly kissed the top of his head the old wound and crossed to Cutty's door. She must tell dear old Cutty of the wonderful happiness that was going to be hers. She opened the study door, but did not enter at once. Asleep on his arms. Why, he hadn't even opened that Ali Baba's bag!
"I shouldn't have known you on the street. And it is so simple. What a wonderful man you are!" "For an old codger?" Cutty's heart registered another sizable bump. Kitty laughed. "Never call yourself old to me again. Are you always doing these things?" "Well, I keep moving. I suspected something like this might happen. Those two will go to the Tombs to await deportation if they are aliens.
She dumped the contents of her handbag upon the stand in the hallway in her impatience to find Cutty's card with his telephone number. It was not in the directory. She might catch him before he went out for the evening. A Japanese voice answered her call. "'Souse, but he iss out." "Where?" "No tell me." "How long has he been gone?" "'Scuse!"
If there is any good in me it will be his handiwork. I say," he added, his eyes now seeking Cutty's, "you called me John. Will you carry on?" "Keep an eye on you? So long as you may need me." "I come from a lawless race. Stefani had to fight. Even now I'm afraid sometimes. God knows I want to be all he tried to make me." "You're all right, John.
The snarl untangled itself; men began to step back and produce pocketlamps. Kitty saw Cutty's face, battered and bloody, appear and disappear in a flash. She saw Karlov's, too, as he was pulled to his feet, his hands manacled. Again she saw Cutty. With shaking hand he was trying to attach the loose end of his collar to the button. The absurdity of it! "Take him away. But don't be rough with him.
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