"None of that!"
"My mistake," he apologized.
She considered it promiscuous and cheap, and you know her aversion for
cheapness.
Then she obtained, after a few forays in and out of brownstone houses
in West Forty-fifth Street, one of those hall bedrooms so familiar to
human-interest stories--the iron-bed, washstand, and slop-jar kind.
There was a five-dollar advance required. That left her twenty dollars.
She shopped a bit then in an Eighth Avenue department store, and, with
the day well on the wane, took a street car up to the Ivy Funeral Rooms.
This time she entered, but the proprietor did not recognize her until
she explained. As you know, she looked smaller and younger, and there
was no tan car at the curb.
"I want to pay this off by the week," she said, handing him out
the statement and a much-folded ten-dollar bill. He looked at her,
surprised. "Yes," she said, her teeth biting off the word in a click.
"Certainly," he replied, handing her out a receipt for the ten.
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