That was a favorite comedy mannerism, screwing at
where a mustache might have been.
"Getaway!" she would invariably admonish, with her reproach all in the
inflection and with the bluest blue in her eyes he had ever seen outside
of a bisque doll's.
The peculiar joy, then, of linking her sweetly resisting arm into his;
of folding over each little finger, so! until there were ten tendrils
at the crotch of his elbow and his heart. Of tilting his straw "katy"
forward, with his importance of this possession, so that the back of his
head came out in a bulge and his hip, and then of walking off with her,
so! Ah yes, so!
MARYLIN _(who had the mysterious little jerk in her laugh of a very
young child_): "Getaway, you're the biggest case!"
GETAWAY _(wild to amuse her further_): "Hocus pocus, Salamagundi! I
smell the blood of an ice-cream sundae!"
MARYLIN _(hands to her hips and her laughter full of the jerks_):
"Getaway, stop your monkeyshines. The cop has his eye on you!"
GETAWAY _(sobered):_ "C'm on!"
Therein lay some of the wonder of her freshet laughter.
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