Frieda spoke loudly. “We don’t give a damn who you are. You ain’t no better than us.” She sat up very straight, and her eyes were hard. “What makes you think you’re better than us?”
“Is that what I think?”
“Sure,” Dora said. “You ain’t kidding nobody.”
Channing shrugged. Dugan arrived at the table with the bottle of gin and two glasses. Channing looked at Kerrigan. “What’s yours?”
“I don’t want anything,” Kerrigan mumbled. “I’m getting out of here.” He tried to twist away from the pressure of Dora’s skinny arm. She put her other arm around him and held him there.
He didn’t hear the sound of the door and he didn’t hear the approaching footsteps in his struggle to pull away from Dora. Then something caused him to look up and he saw her standing at the side of the table, he saw the lovely face and golden hair of Loretta Channing.
She was looking at him. Her gaze was intent and she was ignoring the others at the table.
Frieda said, “Who’s this tramp?”
“This tramp,” Channing said, “is my sister.”
“She ain’t bad-lookin’,” Dora commented.