He trailed his lips, but did not seek her mouth, sitting down rather awkwardly and in the spread-kneed fashion he had.
"Well, girl—you all right?"
"You helped," she said.
"It gave me a jolt, too. I made over twenty-five thousand to the Red
Cross on the strength of it."
"Thank you, Wheeler."
"Lord!" he said, rising and rubbing his hands together. "Give us a couple of fingers to drink, honey; I'm cotton-mouthed."
She reached languidly for a blue-enameled bell, lying back, with her arms dangling and her smile out. Then, as if realizing that the occasion must be lifted, turned her face to him.
"Old bummer!" she said, using one of her terms of endearment for him and two-thirds closing her eyes. Then did he stoop and kiss her roundly on the lips.
* * * * *
For the remainder of this tale, I could wish for a pen supernally dipped, or for a metaphysician's plating to my vernacular, or for the linguistic patois of that land off somewhere to the west of Life. Or maybe just a neurologist's chart of Hester's nerve history would help.