She moved rather pussily, he thought, sometimes her fair cheeks
quivering slightly to the vibration of her walk, as if they had jelled.
And, too, there was something rather snug and plump in the way her
little hands with the eight dimples moved about things, laying the slabs
of Swiss cheese, unstacking cups.
"No, only seven cups, Ada. Nicky--ain't going to be home to supper."
"Oh," she said, "excuse me! I--I--thought--silly--" and looked up at him
to deny that it mattered.
"Isn't that what you said this morning, Nicky?" Poor Sara, she almost
failed herself then because her voice ended in quite a dry click in her
throat.
He stood watching the resumed unstacking of the cups, each with its
crisp little grate against its neighbor.
"One," said Ada, "two-three-four-five-six--seven!"
He looked very long and lean and his darkly nervous self, except that he
dilly-dallied on his heels like a much-too-tall boy not wanting to look
foolish.
"If Miss Ada will provide another cup and saucer, I think I'll stay
home.
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