“That was a rotton show or I’m a Dutchman,” he was growling.
“But I loved the twavel pictures, Morris, those Swiss peasants dancing; I felt I was wight there.”
“Damn hot in there.... I’d like a drink.”
“Now Morris you promised,” she whined.
“Oh I just meant sodawater, dont get nervous.” “Oh that’d be lovely. I’d just love a soda.”
“Then we’ll go for a walk in the Park.”
She let the lashes fall over her eyes “Allwight Morris,” she whispered without looking at him. She put her hand a little tremulously through his arm.
“If only I wasn’t so goddam broke.”
“I dont care Morris.”
“I do by God.”