Then suddenly she fell into a fit of hysterical weeping. Snyder, frightened, camped at her side, pressing her to her breast, calling her childish names, implored her to be calm. When at last, from sheer fatigue, she had grown quiet, she refused all questions, unwilling to talk; all at once solemn, determined, as controlled and impassive as a moment before she had been disorganized and frantic. Snyder, amazed, watched her as if she were a statue.
"You're all right now?"
"All right!"
"You can't tell me? Nothing?"
"Nothing!"
At the end of a moment she turned thoughtfully. "Come to lunch, just in Lexington Avenue?"
"Sure, petty!"
"I have no money."
"Shut up! I have lots!"
"Good! Now, don't talk to me, Snyder! I don't want to talk!"