"Not Mr. Forbes?" she queried, glancing quickly at Pete's serious face.
"Nope. It's you."
They walked another block without speaking; then they walked still
another. And they had begun to walk still another when Pete suddenly
pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and threw it in the gutter.
"That doggone perfume is chokin' me to death!" he blurted. And Doris,
despite herself, smiled.
They were out where the streets were more open and quiet now. The sun
was close to the edge of the desert, far in the west. Doris's hand
trembled just the least bit as she turned to say "good-night." They
had stopped in front of a house, near the edge of town. Pete's face
was a bit pale; his dark eyes were intense and gloomy.
Quite unconscious of what he was doing, he pulled out his watch--a new
watch that possessed no erratic tendencies. Suddenly Doris thought of
Pete's old watch, and of little Ruth's extreme delight in its
irresponsible hands whirling madly around, and of that night when Pete
had been brought to the hospital. Suddenly there were two tears
trembling on her lashes, and her hand faltered.
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