Miss Loeffler insisted angrily that this was not true, but presently grew calmer.
“Anyway, you’re right about one thing,” she said, finishing her high-ball, then setting the glass down on the floor and dropping her cigarette end into it. “The whole question’s overstressed. We’ve got other bigger things to think about. Well, I must go. Just dropped in for a minute. See you again soon, Julie. You going, Mr. Carroll? Give you a lift if you are.”
“Thanks,” said Stacey, getting up. He found the girl physically attractive, and he was glad of anything that would keep his thoughts from Marian. He followed her to her handsome run-about, and they set off swiftly.
“Of course,” she said, “I don’t expect to have a car much longer.”
“No?”
“No. When we have Soviets in America I suppose such cars as remain will all be in the service of the public. Of course they may put me to driving one, but more likely I’ll have to cobble shoes or something.”
“And a very good thing, too,” said Stacey. “Pleasant occupation, nice leathery smell, and lots of time to reflect on universal subjects.”
She frowned. “You don’t believe in me at all, do you?” she demanded, looking at him petulantly. “You think we’re all—”
But in her excitement she had pressed her foot on the accelerator instead of the brake, so that they dashed past a policeman who had raised his hand to stop them, swerved madly around the front of a trolley-car that was approaching on the cross street, sent pedestrians flying to left and right, and returned to a normal speed only a hundred yards farther along the avenue, fortunately not crowded, that they were following.
Stacey sighed. “There’s not a pin to choose between you and Julie,” he remarked patiently. “You both try to kill me the same afternoon.”