He lifted his hat and scratched his ear and moved beside her as she started walking along the road, now a dim tape under the mountain stars.
"Why, Nora, I thought you was a fixture here; what'll we do without you?"
He did not know how that hurt her, how the thought that he could do without her hung about her heart like a sodden weight. She covered it well, holding her voice steady, restraining the discouragement that wanted to break into words, and the night kept secret with her the pallor of her face.
"I guess you'll get along, Bruce; you done it before I come an' I guess th' town'll keep on prosperin' after I leave. I ... I got a chance to go into business."
"Why, that's fine, Sister."
"A lunch counter that I can get for two hundred; I've saved more 'n that since ... since I come here. That'll be better than workin' for somebody else an' I figure I'll make as much and maybe considerable more."
"That's fine!" he repeated. "Fine, Nora!"
In spite of the complexity of his thinking he found an interval of respite and was truly glad for her.
"I ... I wanted to tell you before anybody else knew, 'cause I ... Well, you made it possible. If you hadn't done this for me ... this here in Yavapai ... I'd never been ..."
He laughed at her.