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Hurst, Fannie, 1889-1968

"The Vertical City"

I told her she had to be in bed by eleven.
She minds me, Morton. I wouldn't--couldn't--wake her. Morton, Morton,
she's yours as much as mine. That's God's law, no matter how much man's
law may have let you shirk your responsibility. Don't hurt your own
flesh and blood by coming back to us--now. I remember once when you cut
your hand it made you ill. Blood! Blood is warm. Red. Sacred stuff.
She's your blood, Morton. You let us alone when we needed you. Leave us
alone, now that we don't!"
"But you do, Hattie girl. That's just it. You're running things a
woman's way. Why, a man with the right promoting ideas--"
There was a fusillade of bangs on the door now, and a shout as if the
hair on the voice were rising in anger.
"All out or the doors 'll be locked on yuh! Fine doings!"
She grasped her light wrap from its hook, and her hat with its whirl of
dark veil, fitting it down with difficulty over the fizz of wig.
"Come, Morton," she said, suddenly. "I'm ready. You're right, now or
never.


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