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Updated: September 20, 2025
I know your fight. How brave it is. Even when I'm crossest with you, I realize. Alma's fighting with you, dearest, every inch of the way until you're cured! And then maybe some day anything you want! But not now. Mama, you wouldn't marry Louis Latz now!" "I would. He's my cure. A good home with a good man and money enough to travel and forget myself.
Latz, leaping impulsively forward on the chair that was as tightly upholstered in effect as he in his modish suit, then clutching himself there as if he had caught the impulse on the fly, "I just wish I could help." "Oh!" she said, and threw up a swift brown look from the lace making and then at it again. He laughed, but from nervousness. "My little mother was an ailer, too." "That's me, Mr. Latz.
It's been worse this last month because you've been nervous, dear. I understand now. You see, I didn't dream of you and Louis Latz. We'll forget we'll take a little two room apartment of our own, darling, and get your mind on housekeeping and I'll take up stenography or social ser " "What good am I anyway? No good. In my own way. In my child's way.
So often they discovered it was pleasanter to remain at home. Indeed, during these days of household adjustment, as many as four evenings a week Mrs. Latz dozed there against her husband's shoulder, until about ten, when he kissed her awake to forage with him in the great white porcelain refrigerator and then to bed. And Alma. Almost she tiptoed through these months.
Latz Louis Loo, on my income, and with a daughter growing up, and naturally anxious to give her the best, it hasn't been so easy. People think I'm a rich widow, and with her father's memory to consider and a young lady daughter, naturally I let them think it, but on my seventy-four hundred a year it has been hard to keep up appearances in a hotel like this.
She's got to be a fine girl to have you for a mother, and now it will be my duty to please her as a father. Carrie, will you have me?" "Oh, Louis Loo!" "Carrie, my dear!" And so it was that Carrie Samstag and Louis Latz came into their betrothal. None the less, it was with some misgivings and red lights burning high on her cheek bones that Mrs.
Alma, the bad times with me are over." "Oh, mamma! Mamma, how I pray you're right." "You'll thank God for the day that Louis Latz proposed to me. Why, I'd rather cut off my right hand than marry a man who could ever live to learn such a thing about me." "But it's not fair. We'll have to explain to him, dear, that we hope you're cured now, but " "If you do if you do I'll kill myself!
"Thu-thu!" clucked Mr. Latz for want of a fitting retort. "Heigh-ho! I always say we have so little in common, me and Mrs. Gronauer, she revokes so in bridge, and I think it's terrible for a grandmother to blondine so red, but we've both been widows for almost eight years. Eight years," repeated Mrs. Samstag on a small, scented sigh.
I know your fight. How brave it is. Even when I'm crossest with you, I realize. Alma's fighting with you dearest every inch of the way until you're cured! And then maybe some day anything you want! But not now. Mamma, you wouldn't marry Louis Latz now!" "I would. He's my cure. A good home with a good man and money enough to travel and forget myself. Alma, mamma knows she's not an angel.
"Foi!" said Mr. Latz, by way of somewhat unduly perhaps expressing his own kind of cognizance of the scented trail. "Fleur de printemps," said Mrs. Samstag in quick olfactory analysis. "Eight ninety-eight an ounce." Her nose crawling up to what he thought the cunning perfection of a sniff. "Used to it from home not? She is not.
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