Who Cares? a story of adolescence by Cosmo Hamilton
page 76 of 344 (22%)
page 76 of 344 (22%)
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rattles and whistles. Broken-collared men and faded women struggled
for elbow room like a mass of flies caught on sticky paper. There was something both heathenish and pathetic in the whole thing. The place was reekingly hot. "Come on," said Joan, her blood stirred by the movement and sound. Palgrave held her close and edged his way into the crowd between pointed bare elbows and tightly clasped hands. "They call this dancing!" he said. "What do you call it?" "A bullfight in Hades." And he laughed and put his cheek against her hair and held her young slim body against his own. What did he care what it was or where they were? He had all the excuse that he needed to get the sense and scent of her. His utter distaste of being bruised and bumped, and of adding himself to a heterogeneous collection of people with no more individuality than sheep, who followed each other from place to place in flocks after the manner of sheep, left him. This girl was something more than a young, naive creature from the country, childishly keen to do everything and go everywhere at fever heat--something more than the very epitome of triumphant youth as clean and sweet as apple blossoms, with whom to flirt and pose as being the blase man of the world, the Mr. Know-All of civilization, a wild flower in a hot house. Attracted at once by her exquisite coloring and delicious profile, and amused by her imperative manner and intolerant point of view, he had now begun to be piqued and intrigued by her insurgent way of treating marriage |
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