"Don't tell! Oh, Alma darling—mama's ruined your life. Her sweetheart baby's life."
"No, darling, you haven't. She loves you if you'll come home with her, dear, to bed, before Louis gets home and—"
"No. No. He mustn't see. Never this bad—was I, darling—oh—oh—"
"No, mama—never—this bad. That's why we must hurry."
"Best man that ever lived. Best baby. Ruin. Ruin."
"Mama, you—you're making Alma tremble so that she can scarcely walk if you drag her back so. There's no one following, dear. I won't let any one harm you. Please, sweetheart—a taxicab."
"No. I tell you he's following. He tried to put me into a taxicab."
"Then mama, listen. Do you hear! Alma wants you to listen. If you don't—she'll faint. People are looking. Now I want you to turn square around and look. No, look again. You see now, there's no one following. Now, I want you to cross the street over there to the subway. Just with Alma, who loves you. There's nobody following. Just with Alma who loves you."
And then Carrie, whose lace hat was crazily on the back of her head, relaxed enough so that through the enormous maze of the traffic of trucks and the heavier drags of the lower city, she and her daughter could wind their way.
"My baby. My poor Louis," she kept saying. "The worst I've ever been. Oh—Alma—Louis—waiting—before we get there—Louis."