"It's because I think so quickly, Sister," I said; "I knew you would iron next."
I dined with Irene last night after the hospital.
I refused to believe what she told me about the last bus passing at half-past nine, and so at a quarter to ten I stood outside "The Green Lamp" and waited.
Ten minutes passed and no bus.
With me were two women waiting too—one holding a baby; the other, younger, smarter, dangling a purse.
At last I communicated my growing fears: "I believe the last has gone...."
We fixed our six eyes on the far corner of the road, waiting for the yellow lights to round it, but only the gas-lamps stood firm in their perspective.
"Oh my, Elsie!" said the woman with the baby, "you can't never walk up to the cross-roads in the dark alone!"
"I wouldn't make the attempt, not for anything!" replied the younger one firmly.
Without waiting for more I stepped into the middle of the road and started on my walk home; the very next sentence would have suggested that Elsie and I should walk together.