“He’s certainly making a dull one.”
“Not if it’s what he wants.”
“Imagine working in an office if you could do something else!”
“What about yourself?”
Caroline flushed; she had found herself becoming so much involved with Trebling’s personality that she had begun to lose her own in his: she had begun to think that she was as free as he was or, rather, as he felt he was. She had to retrace now; she must go back into herself. “I can’t do anything else,” she said. “That’s all I know—working in an office.”
“You could get married.”
“I suppose I could.” Purposely she left it at that. He didn’t ask her anything else. They watched the square.
Caroline was conscious of odors, too conscious of them. There were a great many unpleasant odors in the square: beer and cigarette smoke and exhaust; perfume and sweat and stale air from theaters and subways; food cooking—hot dogs, hamburgers, popcorn and peanuts. She got a little dizzy just breathing.
“Come on, Jim,” she said, “let’s go find the dance hall.”
They walked together along the crowded streets and as they walked he told her wonderful stories of freedom that were not true but still very interesting; and she thought him the most fascinating man she knew and not at all like his dull friend Robert Holton.