"Don't tempt me," I said. "You know I couldn't take it on any terms."
"Forced feed lubrication and direct drive on the fourth speed," he continued, like a stage villain offering diamonds to the heroine.
"What kind of a string?"
"Oh, Virgie, it was all a lie about Josie Felton."
"I had it straight from Mrs. Gettridge and she's Josie's aunt and she ought to know, I guess."
"Mrs. Gettridge is a social assassinator belongs to a regular Mafia of mischief-makers and old cats—you know you used to care once."
"Oh, I did, Morty, I did. It nearly broke my heart, and I just wanted to throw myself away—become a trained nurse or go in for settlement work!"
"Couldn't it ever be as it used to be?"
"I should want all the bushings of phosphor bronze."
"They are that already—and it's patent-lock nutted throughout, and the engine is that new kind that interlocks. I'll draw it for you when I get home . . . and we'll be married at the same time as Harry and Nelly."