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 "Yes, and I'll bring back something you don't like."

"You know I like everything."

"The hell you do."

"Must you swear at me?"

"That's not swearing at you. Come on, what do you want?"

"Well, can't you wait a minute? What's the hurry?"

"I thought you were hungry."

"It's enough to take the appetite away from anybody to have you get sore over nothing."

"Who's sore?"

"You are."

"I am not. You're the one that's sore."

"I am not."

But they both looked very peevish, and they walked about the apartment with sulky expressions on their faces and avoided each other's eyes.

Eddie got his hat, and Dot prepared the percolator for coffee. She was wearing a very short red-and-white checkered dress. There was nothing underneath it, and her stockings were rolled down to her ankles. She looked very tired and worn. Eddie's heart gave a throb of pity for the little, solemn face with its babyish pink mouth and its weary, bewildered eyes. He wanted to take her in his arms and ask forgiveness for not being more pleasant, but he was clumsy at things like that. She might be going away to give herself up to the inevitable at any moment now, and here he was fighting with her. He stuck his hat on his head with a sudden, abrupt gesture and ran down the stairs.

Dot looked in the ice box. The butter was very low. Did he know it? Would he think to get butter? She walked quickly to the door and opened it. She would call down the stairs and tell him not to forget the butter.

She opened her mouth to call, but his name would not