They touched hands, and the blood quickened, the old Chicago style.
They talked plain English, they liked pretty clothes, they worshiped
good horses, they lived on the boundless plains. What on earth was
there to ask? Quite suddenly, Connie understood them perfectly.
But Prince realized that he was not making good. His one claim to
admission in her presence was his ability to tell her what she wanted
to know. He had got to tell her things,--but what things? My stars,
what did she want to know? How old he was, where he was born, if he
was married,--oh, by George, she didn't think he was married, did she?
"I am not married," he said abruptly. David looked around at him in
surprise, and Carol's eyes opened widely. But Connie, with what must
have been literary intuition, understood. She nodded at him and smiled
as she asked, "Have you always lived out here?"
"No." He straightened his shoulders and drew a deep breath. Here was
a starter, it would be his own fault if he could not keep talking the
rest of the night. "No, I came out from Columbus when I was eighteen.
Came for my health." He squared his shoulders again, and laughed a big
deep laugh which made Connie marvel that there should be such big deep
laughs in the world.
Pages:
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227