"I can give you commutation as far as Chicago."
"I cannot accept it."
"You must, Razorre."
A week from then I left.
I went up to Mrs. Tighe's room to say good-bye. Awkwardly and with the bearlike roughness of excessive timidity I put my arms about her, drew her to me tentatively.
"Be careful, poet dear, or you'll hurt me," she warned, giving me a look of fondness. Her left arm was in a sling. She had fallen on the steps a few days before and had broken a small bone in the wrist. "My sweet poet!"
The bandaged arm being in the way, I put my head down in her lap again, as she sat there on the edge of the great, white bed.
She leaned over, turned my face up with her free hand, kissed me full in the mouth....
"My sweet poet," she repeated, "good-bye!"