Athalie (Chapter 7, page 1 of 5)


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Chapter 7

Doris came in about midnight, her coat and hat plastered with sleet,
her shoes soaking. She looked rather forlornly at the bowl of hot milk
and crackers which Athalie brought from the kitchenette.

"I'd give next week's salary for a steak," she said, taking the bowl
and warming her chilled hands on it.

"You know what meat costs," said Athalie. "I'd give it to you for
supper if I could."

Doris seated herself by the radiator; Athalie knelt and drew off the
wet shoes, unbuttoned the garters and rolled the stockings from the
icy feet.

"I had another chance to-night: they were college boys: some of the
girls went--" remarked Doris disjointedly, forcing herself to eat the
crackers and milk because it was hot, and snuggling into the knitted
slippers which Athalie brought. After a moment or two she lifted her
pretty, impudent face and sniffed inquiringly.

"Who's been smoking? You?"

"No."

"Who? Genevieve?"

"No. Who do you suppose called?"

"Search me."

"C. Bailey, Junior!"

Doris looked blank, then: "Oh, that boy you had an affair with about a
hundred years ago?"

"That same boy," said Athalie, smiling.

"He'll come again next century I suppose--like a comet," shrugged
Doris, nestling closer to the radiator.

Athalie said nothing; her sister slowly stirred the crackers in the
milk and from time to time took a spoonful.

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