"Nothin'."
"I've never stood in your light, Hanna, of having a good time. Go ahead. I'm always glad when you go up-town with the neighbor women of a Saturday evening. I'd be glad if you'd have 'em in here now and then for a little sociability. Have 'em. Play the graphophone for 'em. Sing. You 'ain't done nothin' with your singin' since you give up choir."
"Neighbor women! Old maids' choir! That's fine excitement for a girl not yet twenty-seven!"
"Come; let's go to a moving picture, Hanna. Go wrap yourself up warm."
"Movie! Oh no; no movie for me with you snorin' through the picture till I'm ashamed for the whole place. If I was the kind of girl had it in me to run around with other fellows, that's what I'd be drove to do, the deal you've given me. Movie! That's a fine enjoyment to try to foist off on a woman to make up for eight years of being so fed up on stillness that she's half-batty!"
"Maybe there's something showin' in the op'ry-house to-night."
"Oh, you got a record to be proud of, John Burkhardt: Not a foot in that opera-house since we're married. I wouldn't want to have your feelin's!"
His quietude was like a great, impregnable, invisible wall inclosing him.
"I'm not the man can change his ways, Hanna. I married at forty, too late for that."
"I notice you liked my pep, all righty, when I was workin' in the feed-yard office. I hadn't been in it ten days before you were hangin' on my laughs from morning till night."