der roundness, to press his face into her warm white curve of throat, forgetting everything else. Something quivered about her, promising—promising
"It's a pity you wouldn't put some ice cream in this soda, Roy," she was saying to the clerk. "Well! That's better! Gee! This tastes nice and cool, Joe!"
"Isn't that that Mendoza girl with Joe Green?" Mrs. Harrison asked Mrs. Jackson in the back of the store. "A can of violet talc, Mr. McCardle, and a bottle of citronella; I guess that's all. Oh, and a small box of mints if you're sure they're fresh. . . . Look! Look at her going out of the door! You can see right through. I don't believe she has a stitch of underclothes on. Disgusting!"
"I was awful sorry to hear you'd had trouble, Joe," Opal said as they walked along Maple Street.
"I— Thank you, Opal."
"It's tough when you're crazy about somebody and anything happens. I was crazy about a fellah in New York—gee, I certainly had it bad. Then he died that year there was so much flu. I nearly went crazy. I tried to take poison, but the old fools pumped me out, and here I am. So I mean—I sort of know how you feel"
She was pulling leaves from the privet hedge as they walked past the rectory. Her face was turned away from him.
"Listen, Joe—things get better. Gee! I just hated myself when I began to sit up and take notice, but
