"Poor, dear Mrs. Schum, fancy her living here!"
They rode out on a surface car, changing twice and jammed face to face on a rear platform, a brilliant pink out in her face.
"Harry, I just cannot realize it. You a full-fledged man!"
"I'm twenty-four."
"What is that yellow on your fingers? Not from smoking?"
"I used to a lot, but not now."
"Is your grandmother just as wrapped up in you as ever, Harry? Poor dear!"
"Yes, she is. You sure look fine, Lilly. You're pretty!"
"And what in the world brought you to New York and what ever became of
Mr. Hazzard and—"
"Oh, gramaw read in the paper once that he died of that sore on his face."