every time I'm round you. But honey—" She paused.
"But what?"
"But lots of things. But you're only just eighteen, and I'm nearly twenty."
"Nonsense!" he interrupted. "Put it this way—that I'm in my nineteenth year and you're nineteen. That makes us pretty close—without counting that other ten thousand years I mentioned."
Marcia laughed.
"But there are some more 'buts.' Your people"
"My people!" exclaimed the prodigy ferociously. "My people tried to make a monstrosity out of me." His face grew quite crimson at the enormity of what he was going to say. "My people can go way back and sit down!"
"My heavens!" cried Marcia in alarm. "All that? On tacks, I suppose."
"Tacks—yes," he agreed wildly—"on anything. The more I think of how they allowed me to become a little dried-up mummy"
"What makes you thank you're that?" asked Marcia quietly—"me?"
"Yes. Every person I've met on the streets since I met you has made me jealous because they knew what love was before I did. I used to call it the 'sex impulse.' Heavens!"
"There's more 'buts,'" said Marcia
"What are they?"
"How could we live?"
