Somebody producing free seats for the Alcazar Theatre, Julia allowed
herself to drift along with the crowd. They were late for the
performance, but nobody cared; they had all seen it before, and after
commenting on it in a way that somewhat annoyed their neighbours,
straggled out, in the beginning of the last act, giggling and chewing
gum. Julia, raising bewildered, sweet, childish eyes to the stars above
noisy O'Farrell Street, was brought suddenly to earth by a touch on her
arm.
It was a dark, tall young man who stepped out of a shadowy doorway to
address her, a man of twenty, perhaps, with all the ripe and sensuous
beauty of the young Jew. His skin was a clear olive, his magnificent
black eyes were set off with evenly curling lashes, and his firm mouth,
under its faint moustache, made a touch of scarlet colour among the rich
brunette tones. He was dressed with a scrupulous niceness, and carried a
long light overcoat on his arm.
"Julia!" he said sombrely, coming forward, his eyes only for her.
"Why, hello, Mark!" Julia answered. And with a little concern creeping
into her manner she went on, "Why, what is it?"
Young Rosenthal glanced at her friends, and, formally offering her his
arm, said seriously: "You will walk with me?"
"We were going down to Haas's for ice-cream sodas," Julia submitted
hesitatingly.
Pages:
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99