They rested on a bench on one of those small triangles of breathing-space which the city ekes out now and then; mill ends of land parcels.
He took immediately to roving the toe of his shoe in and out among the gravel. She stole out her hand to his arm.
"Well, Jimmie?" Her voice was in the gauze of a whisper that hardly left her throat.
"Well, what?" he said, still toeing.
"There—there's a lot of things we never thought about, Jimmie."
"Aw!"
"Eh, Jimmie?"
"You mean you never thought about."
"What do you mean?"