"Been washing my hair to show it a good time. One month in this dump and they'd have to hire a hearse to roll me back to Forty-second Street in."
"This ain't nothing. Wait till we begin to get snowed in!"
"I know. Say, you c'n tell me nothing about this tank I dunno already. I was buried twenty-two years in it. Move over, ma."
She fitted herself into the lower curl of the couch, crossing her hands at the back of her head, drawing up her feet so that, for lack of space, her knees rose to a hump.
"What's new in Deadtown, Han?"
"'New'! This dump don't know we got a new war. They think it's the old
Civil one left over."
"Burkhardt's been made a deacon, Kittie."
"O Lord! ma, forget it!" Mrs. Scogin Bevins threw out her hands to Mrs. Burkhardt in a wide gesture, indicating her mother with a forefinger, then with it tapping her own brow. "Crazy as a loon! Bats!"
"If your father had—"
"Ma, for Gossakes—"