"He is a greenhorn no longer, as true as I am alive." "You won't
deny you are good-looking, will you?"
"What is that to you?" And again addressing herself to the
kerosene-stove: "What do you think of that fellow? A pious
Talmudist indeed! Strike me blind if I ever saw one like that."
And she uttered a gobble-like chuckle
I saw encouragement in her manner. I went on to talk of her songs
and the Jewish theater, a topic for which I knew her to have a
singular weakness.
The upshot was that I soon had her telling me of a play she had
recently seen. As she spoke, it was inevitable that she should
come up close to the lounge. As she did so, her fingers touched
my quilt, her bare, sturdy arms paralyzing my attention. The
temptation to grasp them was tightening its grip on me. I decided
to begin by taking hold of her hand. I warned myself that it must
be done gently, with romance in my touch. "I shall just caress her
hand," I decided, not hearing a word of what she was saving
I brought my hand close to hers. My heart beat violently.
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