"I'm not sore at you. You're right. I'm a coocoo."
He walked to the window and stared vacantly for a second before saying "Look," in a low, disgusted tone. Dot looked. The rain was beating in slim gray sheets against the window, hitting the pane and spattering into thin, colorless wavy lines, trailing drearily for a second before joining other colorless wavy lines only to wiggle wetly into oblivion. Dot watched the drama silently.
"It's raining like hell," said Eddie. "Can't you wait till it lets up?"
"We'll wait downstairs, huh, Eddie? I feel funny here. Suppose your landlady should find me? She'd think I was a burn or something."
"She won't find you," said Eddie. "They don't expect nothing raw here. This ain't a twelve-dollar-a-day hotel."
Dot laughed a little nervously. She didn't want to splash through the streets again. She hated the thought of a movie with the smelly dampness of a thousand drenched coats. But it was dangerous, being here alone with Eddie. She knew it was dangerous. Often as they stood in her vestibule with their bodies pressed tightly against each other, she had been glad of the people who at intervals passed through the hall and forced them to spring guiltily apart. Here there would be no saving interruptions. Here there would be only Eddie and herself—only Eddie and herself. A happy tingle came over her as she realized their aloneness. Conclusive proof of the danger.
"Let's wait downstairs, Eddie."
"Go on. You crazy? It might rain for an hour yet. Who's gonna sit on the steps in that dirty hall when they can stay here where there's ash trays and things?" asked Eddie, stamping his cigarette into the rug with a practiced heel.
"Ah, come on, Eddie."
"No, you're crazy. Take off your things and wait here."
