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"
Uh
-
huh
,
"
said
the
sob
sister
;
her
face
looked
grim
.
Cherryl
remembered
the
wonder
of
the
first
time
Jim
Taggart
had
come
here
.
He
had
come
one
evening
,
without
warning
,
a
month
after
their
first
meeting
,
when
she
had
given
up
hope
of
ever
seeing
him
again
.
She
had
been
miserably
embarrassed
,
she
had
felt
as
if
she
were
trying
to
hold
a
sunrise
within
the
space
of
a
mud
puddle
—
but
Jim
had
smiled
,
sitting
on
her
only
chair
,
looking
at
her
flushed
face
and
at
her
room
.
Then
he
had
told
her
to
put
on
her
coat
,
and
he
had
taken
her
to
dinner
at
the
most
expensive
restaurant
in
the
city
.
He
had
smiled
at
her
uncertainty
,
at
her
awkwardness
,
at
her
terror
of
picking
the
wrong
fork
,
and
at
the
look
of
enchantment
in
her
eyes
.
She
had
not
known
what
he
thought
.
But
he
had
known
that
she
was
stunned
,
not
by
the
place
,
but
by
his
bringing
her
there
,
that
she
barely
touched
the
costly
food
,
that
she
took
the
dinner
,
not
as
booty
from
a
rich
sucker
—
as
all
the
girls
he
knew
would
have
taken
it
—
but
as
some
shining
award
she
had
never
expected
to
deserve
.
He
had
come
back
to
her
two
weeks
later
,
and
then
their
dates
had
grown
progressively
more
frequent
.
He
would
drive
up
to
the
dime
store
at
the
closing
hour
,
and
she
would
see
her
fellow
salesgirls
gaping
at
her
,
at
his
limousine
,
at
the
uniformed
chauffeur
who
opened
the
door
for
her
.
He
would
take
her
to
the
best
night
clubs
,
and
when
he
introduced
her
to
his
friends
,
he
would
say
,
"
Miss
Brooks
works
in
the
dime
store
in
Madison
Square
.
"
She
would
see
the
strange
expressions
on
their
faces
and
Jim
watching
them
with
a
hint
of
mockery
in
his
eyes
.
He
wanted
to
spare
her
the
need
of
pretense
or
embarrassment
,
she
thought
with
gratitude
.
He
had
the
strength
to
be
honest
and
not
to
care
whether
others
approved
of
him
or
not
,
she
thought
with
admiration
.
But
she
felt
an
odd
,
burning
pain
,
new
to
her
,
the
night
she
heard
some
woman
,
who
worked
for
a
highbrow
political
magazine
,
say
to
her
companion
at
the
next
table
,
"
How
generous
of
Jim
!
"
Had
he
wished
,
she
would
have
given
him
the
only
kind
of
payment
she
could
offer
in
return
.
She
was
grateful
that
he
did
not
seek
it
.
But
she
felt
as
if
their
relationship
was
an
immense
debt
and
she
had
nothing
to
pay
it
with
,
except
her
silent
worship
.
He
did
not
need
her
worship
,
she
thought
.
There
were
evenings
when
he
came
to
take
her
out
,
but
remained
in
her
room
,
instead
,
and
talked
to
her
,
while
she
listened
in
silence
.
It
always
happened
unexpectedly
,
with
a
kind
of
peculiar
abruptness
,
as
if
he
had
not
intended
doing
it
,
but
something
burst
within
him
and
he
had
to
speak
.
Then
he
sat
slumped
on
her
bed
,
unaware
of
his
surroundings
and
of
her
presence
,
yet
his
eyes
jerked
to
her
face
once
in
a
while
,
as
if
he
had
to
be
certain
that
a
living
being
heard
him
.
"
.
.
.
it
wasn
’
t
for
myself
,
it
wasn
’
t
for
myself
at
all
—
why
won
’
t
they
believe
me
,
those
people
?
I
had
to
grant
the
unions
’
demands
to
cut
down
the
trains
—
and
the
moratorium
on
bonds
was
the
only
way
I
could
do
it
,
so
that
’
s
why
Wesley
gave
it
to
me
,
for
the
workers
,
not
for
myself
.
All
the
newspapers
said
that
I
was
a
great
example
for
all
businessmen
to
follow
—
a
businessman
with
a
sense
of
social
responsibility
.
That
’
s
what
they
said
.
It
’
s
true
,
isn
’
t
it
?
.
.
.
Isn
’
t
it
?
.
.
.
What
was
wrong
about
that
moratorium
?
What
if
we
did
skip
a
few
technicalities
?
It
was
for
a
good
purpose
.
Everyone
agrees
that
anything
you
do
is
good
,
so
long
as
it
’
s
not
for
yourself
.
.
.
But
she
won
’
t
give
me
credit
for
a
good
purpose
.
She
doesn
’
t
think
anybody
’
s
any
good
except
herself
.
My
sister
is
a
ruthless
,
conceited
bitch
,
who
won
’
t
take
anyone
’
s
ideas
but
her
own
.
.
.
