"What's that on your wrist?"
"Where?"
"There. I thought you said you threw it away."
Her right hand flew to her left wrist as if a welt lay there. "This,
I—huh—I—I forgot I had it on. This—this little old bracelet you said
you found in the Subway. It—it's nothing but red celluloid, anyway.
I—I nearly did throw it away."
"You look just like a little gipsy, you do, with that red comb in that black hair of yours and that red bracelet on your little brown arm. I'll swear if I didn't miss my train by ten minutes the first time I seen you standing here at this counter with those big black eyes of yours shining out."
"You'll miss it again if you don't run away, Charley-boy."
"Dare you to come along! I'll wait for the five-eighteen."
"Don't hold your breath till I do."
"Dare you to come out on the eight-eighteen! Say the word, and I'll be at the station."
"I'll see myself crazy with the blues first."