"I will."
"To—the printery—I want to see it again."
"Go 'long wid you! Marty Briggs and me are bad friends, see?"
She reveled in this new gaiety of his.
"Joe, you're waking up. Please take me!"
"Put on your hat, your coat, and your little black gloves, young woman.
Me for the printery!"
They went out together, glad as young children. The world was sheathed in a hard ice-coated snow; icicles dangled from every sill and cornice; the skies were melting blue, and the sun flashed along every surface. It was a world of flashing fire, of iridescent sunbursts. Through the clean, tingling air they walked, arm in arm, the stir of a new life in their hearts.
"Joe," said Myra, "I want you to signalize your resurrection by a great sacrifice to the gods."
"I'm ready. Expound!"
"I want you to buy a new hat."