"
Mrs. Samstag's lips parted, her teeth showing through like light.
"Oh," she said, "sable! That's my fur, Loo. I've never owned any, but
ask Alma if I don't stop to look at it in every show window. Sable!"
"Carrie--would you--could you--I'm not what you would call a youngster
in years, I guess, but forty-four isn't--"
"I'm--forty-one, Louis. A man like you could have younger."
"No. That's what I don't want. In my lonesomeness, after my mother's
death, I thought once that maybe a young girl from the West, nice girl
with her mother from Ohio--but I--funny thing, now I come to think about
it--I never once mentioned my little mother's sable coat to her. I
couldn't have satisfied a young girl like that, or her me, Carrie, any
more than I could satisfy Alma. It was one of those mamma-made matches
that we got into because we couldn't help it and out of it before it was
too late. No, no, Carrie, what I want is a woman as near as possible to
my own age."
"Loo, I--I couldn't start in with you even with the one little lie that
gives every woman a right to be a liar.
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