“Summer-san. What a beautiful name!”
Marion turned her back upon him.
“Listen,” he said into her little pink ear. “I go alone at America, but after four years I come bag, an’ then I goin’ tek to America with me—”
“Summer?”
“No.”
“Me?”
“No—nod exactly.”
“Then who, Gozo?”
“All of you.”
“Oh, won’t that be lovely,” she cried. “Father, are we all going to America in four years?”