“It must be. But you can’t really see much difference. Of course, you. You’re different. You’re a—why, you’d die, you couldn’t have been born, anywhere else. But I work with five other chaps in the shipping office, and they’re just like me.”
Lois laughed. “What nonsense. They’re not! You’re much nicer.” She was giggling in foretaste of the wicked truth she was about to utter, “you’re—I’m sure you’re much, much cleaner.”
She was like a pricking rose under his face, laughing there on the couch. David resolved to be angry.
“That’s rotten of you, Lo. You’re no democrat.”
“Of course, I’m not. I’m a Republican.”
David, enjoying his indignation and unconsciously aware of the excuse it gave him, reached for her wrists.
“Don’t!” he commanded.
“You are!”
He pulled her to him, and put his arms around her waist. He said: “Stop making fun of people.” Then he kissed her.
Lois stopped laughing. She was very still. Her eyes glistened.