“Oh no, no, no,” she half sobbed, swept by some force beyond her control.
“Well, then, why stand out against me? I love you, I tell you—I’m crazy about you. That’s why I came back this time. It was to see you!”
“Was it?” asked Jennie, surprised.
“Yes, it was. And I would have come again and again if necessary. I tell you I’m crazy about you. I’ve got to have you. Now tell me you’ll come with me.”
“No, no, no,” she pleaded. “I can’t. I must work. I want to work. I don’t want to do anything wrong. Please don’t ask me. You mustn’t. You must let me go. Really you must. I can’t do what you want.”
“Tell me, Jennie,” he said, changing the subject. “What does your father do?”
“He’s a glass-blower.”
“Here in Cleveland?”
“No, he works in Youngstown.”
“Is your mother alive?”