Facing her there on
these sidewalks of slops, and the unprivacy of stoops swarming with
enormous young mothers and puny old children, Getaway, with a certain
fox pointiness out in his face, squeezed her arm until she could feel
the bite of his elaborately manicured finger nails.
"Marry me, Marylin," he said, "and you'll wear diamonds."
In spite of herself, his bay-rummed nearness was not unpleasant to her.
"Cut it out--here, Getaway," she said through a blush.
He hooked her very close to him by the elbow, and together they crossed
through the crash of a street bifurcated by elevated tracks.
"You hear, Marylin," he shouted above the din. "Marry me and you'll wear
diamonds."
"Getaway, you're up to something again!"
"Whadda you mean?"
"Diamonds on your twenty a week! It can't be done."
His gaze lit up with the pointiness. "I tell you, Marylin, I can promise
you headlights!"
"How?"
"Never you bother your little head how; O.K., though."
"_How_, Getaway?"
"Oh--clean--if that's what's worrying you.
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