effort she discovered that she could say it.
“Damn!”
Sobbing, half with regret, Angela knew that her childhood was over. She was free, free!—free to break hearts and pocketbooks, free to wear long red earrings forever and forever—perhaps afterwards; who knows! In the ecstasy of ewomancipation she drank half a bottle of cologne and smoked two whole Chinese punk sticks. She was free, free!
Joyously she set out for the six-cent store, on the corner of 13th and 25th Streets, West.
Who would have suspected that, diagonally above that little turn, there beat a heart filled with naughty joy? Back of those black eyes were thinks that would have made Rabelais weep. Yes, such was Angie that morning, if not sucher.
And behold, at 11.11, again He appeared where the hard hardware counter concealed the southern half of our little friend A. Bish. Her hero! The same plaid suit with the same dear spots, the same half-smoked cigar, the same sweet old breath, embalmed in peppermint, as per always.
