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 knife, and I could feel my lips shutting hard on each other.

Bess looked at me steadily. She knew my moods. "Chet," she said, "you're making a mistake. It isn't as if it were something we could get around or break down,—it's something we've got to face. I'm going to face it with a smile. Are you going to face it with your lips like that?"

"Yep," I said, jabbing with my knife.

"All right," said Bess. "Let's talk about the weather now. Oh, but first, have you said anything to your folks about it?"

"No, and I'm not going to. If the subject once gets started in the house, it'll be talked all the time, and I can't stand for it. If anybody starts it with me, I'll tell 'em I know, and ask 'em to kindly shut up."

Bess nodded. "I guess that's the best way. I don't want to talk about it with others, either. You see, Chet," she added," I don't feel quite—quite smooth about it myself. I can talk to you," Bess laughed, "because, knowing how ugly you feel, I have what Father calls a 'holier than thou sensation,' and that is quite pleasant; but I get a wrathy streak sometimes when I think about it,