"It might to some people, but not to me—but you see I couldn't give you what Big Boy can."
"You mean you can't give me the money he can?"
"That's it—he can give you everything you could ever want—money, clothes, cars—or just anything you happen to want—why, look, he has already given you a thousand dollars—I doubt if I'll ever have a thousand in my whole life—I'm just a bum singer."
"But just the same I love you, Harry—why couldn't we do this—I've an idea—let me string this guy along and get a load of dough, and then we can beat it and start fresh some place where no one knows us—would you like that?"
"Well, I don't know about that—I'll have to think it over—that is a little too much to say yes to on so short a notice, and not a nice thing to do."
"What's the difference? What I'm doing already is not exactly what the general run of people would call decent."
"Oh, that's nothing—I know women about this town that have good husbands and friends, and they step out on the side for the dough, to buy something they want, but they were respectable girls before they married, but this much I know—if I marry a girl like you, I can depend on you being on the level with me—I've seen enough of life down here to know that."
"Suppose we talk this over some time tomorrow or later. We should get some sleep tonight," said Pearl, as she laid her head on his shoulder.
Harry pulled her close to him, all was quiet in the hotel, and the streets were quiet. The rest of the night was bathed in liquid silver of a belated moon, but inside each of them there raged a tornado of love, desire, passion, that was soon to be quelled by complete possession of each other, then a sweet sleep of quiet and peace, that equaled the quietness of the silent city outside.
Morning quietly slipped through the windows, the bright hot sun rose, dispelling the chill of the night. The city rose with all its noise and bustle, as a sleeping dog rises and shakes itself, to be about its busy routine of the day.