“But where will I get the hoops?” I asked.
“Here,” he said. He was, I noticed, holding out his arms. And I laughed, even though my heart was heavy.
“Men have been a great disappointment to me, Peter,” I said with a shake of my sombrero.
“Try me,” suggested Peter.
But still again I had to shake my head.
“That wouldn’t be fair, Peter,” I told him. “I can’t spoil your life to see what’s left of my own patched up.”
“Then you’re going to spoil two of ’em!” he promptly asserted.
“But I don’t believe in that sort of thing,” I did 375 my best to explain to him. “I’ve had my innings, and I’m out. I’ve a one-way heart, the same as a one-way street. I don’t think there’s anything in the world more odious than promiscuity. That’s a big word, but it stands for an even bigger offense against God. I’ve always said I intended to be a single-track woman.”
“But your track’s blown up,” contended Peter.
“Then I’ll have to lay me a new one,” I said with a fine show of assurance.