"Do you mind talking a little, Harvey?"
"I don't feel like talking much. I'm tired, I guess. But go on. What is it? Bills?"
She came to him in her constant financial anxieties, and always he was ready to help her out. But his tone now was gruff. A slight flush of resentment colored her cheeks.
"Not this time, Harve. I was just thinking about things."
"Sit down."
She sat on the straight chair beside the bed, the chair on which, in neat order, Harvey placed his clothing at night, his shoes beneath, his coat over the back.
"I wish you'd go out more, Harvey."
"Why? Go out and talk to a lot of driveling fools who don't care for me any more than I do for them?"
"That's not like you, Harve."
"Sorry." His tone softened. "I don't care much about going round, Belle. That's all. I guess you know why."