Yes--a drink--that would set
him up again. And a drink for her--that would bring her down
from this queer new kind of high horse. "I guess she must be
a top notcher--the real thing, come down in the world--and not
out of the near silks. But she'll be all right after a drink.
One drink of liquor makes the whole world kin." That last
thought reminded him of his own cleverness and he attacked the
situation afresh. But the conversation as they drove up the
avenue was on the whole constrained and intermittent--chiefly
about the weather. Susan was observing--and feeling--and
enjoying. Up bubbled her young spirits perpetually renewed by
her healthy, vital youth of body. She was seeing her beloved
City of the Sun again. As they turned out of the avenue for
Sherry's main entrance Susan realized that she was in
Forty-fourth Street. The street where she and Spenser had
lived!--had lived only yesterday. No--not yesterday--impossible!
Her eyes closed and she leaned back in the cab.
Gideon was waiting to help her alight. He saw that something
was wrong; it stood out obviously in her ghastly face. He
feared the carriage men round the entrance would "catch on" to
the fact that he was escorting a girl so unused to swell
surroundings that she was ready to faint with fright. "Don't
be foolish," he said sharply. Susan revived herself,
descended, and with head bent low and trembling body entered
the restaurant.
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