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Updated: June 18, 2025
Suddenly Miss Samstag was her coolly firm little self, the bang of authority back in her voice. "You can't marry Louis Latz." "Can't I? Watch me." "You can't do that to a nice, deserving fellow like him!" "Do what?" "That!" Then Mrs. Samstag threw up both her hands to her face, rocking in an agony of self-abandon that was rather horrid to behold. "Oh, God, why don't you put me out of it all?
Gronauer last night when she was joking him to buy a ten-dollar carnation for the Convalescent Home Bazaar, that he would only take one if it was white, because little white flowers reminded him of Alma Samstag." "Oh, mamma!" "Say, it is as plain as the nose on your face. He can't keep his eyes off you. He sells goods to Doctor Gronauer's clinic and he says the same thing about him.
Secretly he yearned for length of limb, of torso, even of finger. On this, one of a hundred such typical evenings in the Bon Ton lobby, Mr. Latz, sighing out a satisfaction of his inner man, sat himself down on a red-velvet chair opposite Mrs. Samstag.
Latz this evening?" asked Mrs. Samstag, her smile encompassing the question. "If I was any better I couldn't stand it" relishing her smile and his reply.
"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.
Somehow, some way, with all the little mouths still parched and gaping and the clean and quite white area unblemished, Mrs. Samstag found her way back to bed. She was in a drench of sweat when she got there and the conflagration of neuralgia curiously enough, was now roaring in her ears so that it seemed to her she could hear her pain.
Once Alma, as a rule supersensitive to her mother's slightest unrest, floated up for the moment out of her young sleep, but she was very drowsy and very tired, and dream tides were almost carrying her back as she said: "Mamma, you all right?" Simulating sleep, Mrs. Samstag lay tense until her daughter's breathing resumed its light cadence. Then at four o'clock the kind of nervousness that Mrs.
It's just desire. That's what's so terrible to me, mamma. The way you have been taking it these last months. Just from desire." Mrs. Samstag buried her face, shuddering, down into her hands. "O God! My own child against me!" "No, mamma. Why, sweetheart, nobody knows better than I do how sweet and good you are when you are away from it. We'll fight it together and win! I'm not afraid.
Then at four o'clock, the kind of nervousness that Mrs. Samstag had learned to fear, began to roll over her in waves, locking her throat and curling her toes and her fingers, and her tongue up dry against the roof of her mouth. She must concentrate now must steer her mind away from the craving! Now then: West End Avenue. Louis liked the apartments there. Luxurious. Quiet. Residential.
Once Alma, as a rule supersensitive to her mother's slightest unrest, floated up for the moment out of her young sleep, but she was very drowsy and very tired and dream-tides were almost carrying her back, as she said: "Mama, are you all right?" Simulating sleep, Mrs. Samstag lay tense until her daughter's breathing resumed its light cadence.
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