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Blix by Frank Norris
page 80 of 213 (37%)

She got away from the flat about ten o'clock, but on the steps
outside met Condy dressed as if for bicycling, and smoking a
cigarette.

"I've got eleven dollars!" he announced cheerily.

"But I thought it was ptomaine poisoning!" she cried with sudden
vexation.

"Pshaw! that's what the doctor says. He's a flapdoodle; nothing
but a kind of a sort of a pain. It's all gone now. I'm as fit as
a fiddle--and I've got eleven dollars. Let's go somewhere and do
something."

"But your work?"

"They don't expect me. When I thought I was going to be sick, I
telephoned the office, and they said all right, that they didn't
need me. Now I've got eleven dollars, and there are three
holidays of perfect weather before us: to-day, to-morrow, and
Monday. What will we do? What must we do to be saved? Our
matrimonial objects don't materialize till Monday night. In the
meanwhile, what? Shall we go down to Chinatown--to the restaurant,
or to the water-front again? Maybe the mate on the whaleback would
invite us to lunch. Or," added Condy, his eye caught by a fresh-
fish peddler who had just turned into the street, "we can go
fishing."

"For oysters, perhaps."
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