"Because, Curly"—she got me by the arms again and she was crying hard—"because—— I'll have to tell you—I'll have to, Curly. I can't help it! I didn't want it to happen—I fought it to keep it from happening as long as I could—I didn't want it to be this way. It was hard—so awfully hard. I tried every way I could; but I can't—I can't help it, Curly! I can't! I can't! It's no use!" She just run on, over and over.
"What is it, Bonnie?" says I. "Do you love him?"
"Yes, yes; it's true! I do, Curly—I love him!"
XXI - Her Pa's Way of Thinking
"Near as I can figure, Curly," says Old Man Wright to me soon after what had happened between me and Bonnie Bell—"near as I can figure, Old Man Wisner's been advertising that the old Circle Arrow Range is a great little place for the honest granger to raise bananas, pineapples and other tropical fruits."
"It ain't," says I, "except tomatoes—and them in tin cans."
"The honest yeoman," says he, "according to Old Man Wisner's description, he don't never have to eat anything as common as bread and butter, not after he's bought some of that land at four hundred and fifty dollars a acre. He lives after that time on bird tongues and omelet souflay, and all he has to do is to set on his wide veranda and watch his lowing herds increase and multiply at eighty-five dollars a head—and prices going up all the time. Ain't that fine, Curly? Things never used to happen just thataway when you and me owned that range, did they?"
"Not hardly," says I.
"No," says the old man, falling into one of them thinking spells. "No; they didn't."