"That fellow who gave me this seat."
"I'll break his face if he goo-goos you," said Getaway, who by this time had a headache and whose feet had fitted reluctantly back into patent leather.
But inexplicably, even to herself, that night, in the shadow of the stoop of her witch of a rooming house, she let him kiss her lips. His first of her—her first to any man. It may have been that suddenly she was so extremely tired—tired of the lay of the week ahead, suggested by the smells and the noises and the consciousness of that front box pleat.
The little surrender, even though she drew back immediately, was wine to him and as truly an intoxicant.
"Marylin," he cried, wild for her lips again, "I can't be held off much longer. I'm straight with you, but I'm human, too."
"Don't, Getaway, not here! To-morrow—maybe."
"I'm crazy for you!"
"Go home now, Getaway."
"Yes—but just one more—"
"Promise me you'll go straight home from here—to bed."