"But you just said—" Angela started to remind him, and took a little stool and moved close to him, seating herself upon it. She did not want him to forget her girlish sweetness. Lopez paid no heed to her.
"They are ze best because each man makes them for 'imself. Not like New York, where everybody tell you what you cannot do until zere is nozzing left what you want to do."
Angela piped up: "You've been to New York?"
"When I was agent for Madero—yes. I live at ze big hotel. I 'ave planty money. Ees no damn prohibition. I get dronk. I 'ave 'ell of a time. Sure! I see 'im all! New York!" he smiled in recollection.
"And you didn't like it?" Angela persisted, moving her little stool even closer to him.
"Like it? It makes me seeck! Even beautiful woman what I see 'ave 'osband what is afraid for 'er. Each time I get dronk comes big policeman which 'it me on ze 'ead." He smiled at the thought, "When I go to ze teatro, ees someone which 'ide under—ze bed. Not even can I step on ze grass because—New York! It crush ze 'eart!" He put both hands over his chest, and looked up at the ceiling.
"Yes!" exclaimed Angela, her stool very close to him now.
"Ees a prison for ze soul!" Lopez affirmed. "A stupid, seely place, your New York!"
"Yes!" Angela agreed again.