“I’ll do this.”
“O’ course you won’t; but if you did, I’d––why, I’d––why, I just don’t know what I’d do.”
“Would you give up Jake?”
“Give up Jake? Divorce him or something?”
Mamise nodded.
Abbie gasped: “Why, you’re positively immor’l! Posi-tive-ly! He’s the father of my childern! I’ll stick to Jake through thick and thin.”
“Through treason and murder, too? You were an American, you know, before you ever met him. And I was an American before he became my brother-in-law. And I don’t intend to let him make me a partner in his guilt just because he made you give him a few children.”
“I won’t listen to another word,” cried Abbie. “You’re too indecent to talk to.” And she slammed the door after her.
“Poor Abbie!” said Mamise, and closed her book, rubbed the light out of her cigarette, and went to bed.