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Tarkington, Booth, 1869-1946

"The Turmoil, a novel"

Here was a puzzle. Why did that
adorable little vanity of hers bring her out without them in the DARK?
But of course she had gone out long before dark. For undefinable
reasons this explanation was not quite satisfactory; however, allowing
it to stand, his solicitude for her took another turn. "I think you
ought to have a car," he said, "especially when you want to be out
after dark. You need one in winter, anyhow. Have you ever asked your
father for one?"
"No," said Mary. "I don't think I'd care for one particularly."
"I wish you would." Bibbs's tone was earnest and troubled. "I think
in winter you--"
"No, no," she interrupted, lightly. "I don't need--"
"But my mother tried to insist on sending one over here every
afternoon for me. I wouldn't let her, because I like the walk,
but a girl--"
"A girl likes to walk, too," said Mary. "Let me tell you where I've
been this afternoon and how I happened to be near enough to make you
take me home. I've been to see a little old man who makes pictures
of the smoke. He has a sort of warehouse for a studio, and he lives
there with his mother and his wife and their seven children, and he's
gloriously happy.


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