Her eyes were
gorgeously brilliant. She had felt almost as reckless several
times before; but never had she felt this devil-may-care
eagerness to see what the turn of the next card would bring.
"You'll take one?"
"Sure. I feel like the devil. Been bumming round all night.
My lady friend that I had with me--a regular lady friend--she
was suddenly took ill. Appendicitis complicated with d.t.'s
the ambulance guy said. The boys are waiting for me to come
back, so's we can go on. They've got some swell rooms in a
hotel up in Forty-second Street. Let's get a move on."
The bartender served the third drink and Susan paid for them,
the other girl insisting on paying for the one she was having
when Susan came. Susan's head was whirling. Her spirits were
spiraling up and up. Her pale lips were wreathed in a reckless
smile. She felt courageous for adventure--any adventure. Her
capital had now sunk to three quarters and a five-cent piece.
They issued forth, talking without saying anything, laughing
without knowing or caring why. Life was a joke--a coarse, broad
joke--but amusing if one drank enough to blunt any refinement of
sensibility. And what was sensibility but a kind of snobbishness?
And what more absurd than snobbishness in an outcast?
"That's good whiskey they had, back there," said Susan.
"Good? Yes--if you don't care what you say."
"If you don't want to care what you say or do," explained Susan.
Pages:
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722