Her chin dropped forward and she
nodded her head dejectedly. Braddock's next remark, uttered with
considerable gusto, came to David's ears.
"Good!" he said, biting his cigar with approving energy. "We can talk
it over there. I think you will see it my way, Mary. You'll see if I'm
not right! Come on, Bob. This is no place to talk."
She preceded them without another word, an air of utter weariness
characterizing her movements. The stranger smiled his bland, hateful
smile. When Braddock, in genial relief, essayed to take his arm, the
tall man coldly withdrew himself from the contact, displaying a far
from mild aversion to the advances of the tipsy showman. Braddock
dropped back, like a cowed dog, permitting the other to pass through
the sidewall ahead of him, a step or two behind the unhappy Mary
Braddock on whose back his steady gaze was leveled with unswerving
intentness.
David hurried to a rent in the canvas and peered out into the sunlight
of the waning day. The stranger had come up beside Mrs. Braddock,
talking to her as they crossed the lot in the direction of the street.
She apparently paid no heed to his remarks.
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