Susan drew away; she was looking at him with terror and repulsion. The icy blast swept down the street, sawed into her flesh savagely.
"I'll give you five," said the drunken man. "Come along." He grabbed her arm, waved his other hand at Etta. "So long, blondie. 'Nother time. Good luck."
Susan heard Etta's gasp of horror. She wrenched herself free again. "I guess I'd better go with him," said she to Etta.
Etta began to sob. "Oh, Lorna!" she moaned. "It's awful."
"You go into the restaurant on the corner and get something to eat, and wait for me. We can afford to spend the money. And you'll be warm there."
"Here! Here!" cried the tipsy man. "What're you two whispering about? Come along, skinny. No offense. I like 'em slim." And he made coarse and pointed remarks about the sluggishness of fat women, laughing loudly at his own wit.
The two girls did not hear. The wind straight from the Arctic was plying its hideous lash upon their defenseless bodies.
"Come on, lovey!" cried the man. "Let's go in out of the cold."
"Oh, Lorna! You can't go with a drunken man! I'll—I'll take him. I can stand it better'n you. You can go when there's a gentleman——"
"You don't know," said Susan. "Didn't I tell you I'd been through the worst?"