“What’s the use to think so much? It only eats up the flesh from your bones. Better rest …”
“How can I rest when my choked-in thoughts tear me to pieces? I need school more than a starving man needs bread.”
Yetta’s eyes brooded over me. Suddenly a light broke. “I got an idea. There’s a new school for greenhorns where they learn them anything they want …”
“What—where?” I raised myself quickly, hot with eagerness. “How do you know from it—tell me only—quick—since when—”
“The girl next door by my house—she used to work by cigars—and now she learns there.”
“What does she learn?”
“Don’t get yourself so excited. Your eyes are jumping out from your head.”
I fell back weakly: “Oi weh! Tell me!” I begged.
“All I know is that she likes what she learns better than rolling cigars. And it’s called ‘School for Immigrant Girls.’”
“Your time is up. Another visitor is waiting to come in,” said the nurse.