CHAPTER IV
MOLLY
"WHY, Molly," said the policeman, "what are you doing out of bed? I thought you were asleep."
He placed a huge arm around her, and drew her to his lap. As she sat there, his great bulk made her seem smaller than she really was. With her hair down and her little red slippers dangling half a yard from the floor, she seemed a child. McEachern, looking at her, found it hard to realize that nineteen years had passed since the moment when the doctor's raised eyebrows had reproved him for his monosyllabic reception of the news that the baby was a girl.
"Do you know what the time is?" he said. "Two o'clock."
"Much too late for you to be sitting here smoking," said Molly, severely. "How many cigars do you smoke a day? Suppose you had married someone who wouldn't let you smoke!"
"Never stop your husband smoking, my dear. That's a bit of advice for you when you're married."
"I'm never going to marry. I'm going to stop at home, and darn your socks."
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