“No, it’s up to you.”
“Well, then, why shouldn’t we see each other? I’m not mad.”
“That isn’t it,” he said. “We’ve got to do something about it.”
“About what?”
“Don’t be dumb.” He seemed to feel more cheerful now. He was filling his pipe again, but was still sulky.
“Well, we aren’t ever going to do anything about it, then,” she said decidedly.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Good-bye, then, I guess you can get home all right.”
“Good-bye,” she said. In a rush of remorse, she paused at the door. “Honestly, is that the way you feel about it?” she asked. “Didn’t you ever just like me?”
“Well, Jesus Christ, Gin,” he cried. “You’re a girl. How did you expect me to feel?”
“I don’t know,” she said miserably. “I thought maybe it wasn’t bad, just playing around. Can’t I ever have any friends unless I sleep with them? You pretended to like me.”