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Updated: June 17, 2025
And I clean forgot, and told the boys that I hadn't nothin' better than a rug or two 'n the kitchen floor." "A mattress!" exclaimed Saterlee. "Splendid! I guess you can sleep some on anything near as good as a mattress. Can't you, ma'am?" "Indeed I could!" she said. "But you have been through as much as I have more. I won't take it." The old man's whine interrupted.
And he thought with pleasure of the faith, patience, and rectitude of the three gentle companions whom he had successively married and buried. "There was never any divorce in the Saterlee blood," he had prided himself. Not till then do we think of anybody else. But then we do, because it is not good to live alone, especially in a small community in Southern California."
They could hear from far ahead a sound as of roaring waters. "That," said Saterlee dryly, "will be Gila River. Mebbe we'll have to think about getting across that first. It's a river now, by the sound of it, if it never was before." "Fortunately it's not dark yet," said Mrs. Kimbal. "The last time I had trouble with a river," said Saterlee, "was when my first wife died.
"It all depends," said Saterlee, "how deep the water runs over the road, and whether we can keep to the road. You see, it comes out higher up than it goes in. Can you swim, Ma'am?" Mrs. Kimbal admitted that, in clothes made to the purpose, and in very shallow water, she was not without proficiency. "Would you rather we turned back?" he asked. "I feel sure you'll get me over," said she.
The cases would seem identical, sir, I think. Except that I could understand divorcing a man who had become intolerable to me; but I could never, never fancy myself marrying again if my husband, in the course of nature, had died still loving me, still faithful to me. So you see the cases are not identical. And that only remarriage after divorce is defensible." "I take your point," said Saterlee.
Saterlee turned suddenly to Mrs. Kimbal, but his voice was very humble. "Ma'am?" he suggested. Mr. Holiday stepped upon the rear platform of his car, the Mishawaka, exactly two seconds before the express, with a series of faint, well-oiled jolts, began to crawl forward and issue from beneath the glass roof of the Grand Central into the damp, pelting snow. Mr.
"Well, I can see one thing," said Saterlee, "that you've made up your mind to go through this experience like a good sport. I wish I didn't have to take up so much room." "Never mind," she said, "I like to think that I could go to sleep without danger of falling out." "That's so that's so," said Saterlee. "Maybe it's just as well we're something of a tight fit."
"What a relief to you, Ma'am," said Saterlee hastily. "Yes," she said, but without enthusiasm, "a great relief." He screwed his massive head around on his massive neck, not without difficulty, and looked at her. His voice sounded hurt. "You don't seem very glad, Ma'am," he said. Her answer, on a totally different topic, surprised him. "Do you believe in blood?" she said.
"That's my Dolly's letter to me," she said, "and it doesn't sound like " her voice broke. He took the letter from her and read it. "No, it doesn't," he said. And he said it roughly, because nothing brought rough speech out of the man so surely as tears when they were in his own eyes. "Well," said Mrs. Kimbal with a sigh, "let's talk." "No," said Saterlee, "let's think."
"Then," said Saterlee, "let's put the hood down. In case we do capsize, we don't want to get caught under it." Saterlee on his side, and Mrs. Kimbal, not without exclamations of annoyance, on hers, broke the toggle-joints that held the dilapidated hood in place, and thrust it backward and down. At once the air seemed to circulate with greater freshness.
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