Kennicott summarized the whole case against wildness: “Let's try it some other time, Carrie.”
She gave it up. She looked at the town. She saw that in adventuring from Main Street, Gopher Prairie, to Main Street, Joralemon, she had not stirred. There were the same two-story brick groceries with lodge-signs above the awnings; the same one-story wooden millinery shop; the same fire-brick garages; the same prairie at the open end of the wide street; the same people wondering whether the levity of eating a hot-dog sandwich would break their taboos.
They reached Gopher Prairie at nine in the evening.
“You look kind of hot,” said Kennicott.
“Yes.”
“Joralemon is an enterprising town, don't you think so?” She broke. “No! I think it's an ash-heap.”
“Why, Carrie!”
He worried over it for a week. While he ground his plate with his knife as he energetically pursued fragments of bacon, he peeped at her.