We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.
Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.
Illustrated
by
CARL
MUELLER
was the way, usually, with the things Patsy dropped. They lay, in a shapeless mass, until somebody stooped over and straightened them. Christine watched the young man named Richie stoop over and straighten his coat now. He picked it up and laid it across the back of a chair.
She said, "It's late, isn't it?" ^ They agreed, good-naturedly, that it was late. Christine started hesitantly toward the bedroom. She had wanted to talk with Patsy. There was a whooping sound in the outer hall and Richie flung the door open. Other youngsters tumbled in and moved toward Patsy in a body. The party had begun. Christine went to her room silently.
THERE, she sat down in front of her mirror. Large, steady gray eyes stared back at her. Masses of dark hair framed them. A full, tender, sensitive mouth drooping slightly at the corners from weariness. She was young, much too young, to take the responsibility for Patsy. One would have had to live for centuries to reach an age whereby he might consider himself equal to Patsy and her whims. Christine gave it up
and went to bed. She had, she thou g h t drowsily, wanted to talk with Patsy. Thev had seen so little of each other in the past two months. Patsv was always busy with parties and Christine was working hard. . . .
From childhood, Christine had been Big Sister and Patsy had been Baby Sister. Christine's dolls went to Baby Sister when she cried for them. The cherries on Christine's dessert went to Baby Sister when she held out ^ her dimpled, demanding little hands. Christine's devotion, her protection, her love, in all its simple dignity, went to Baby Sister.
Their first separation had come when Christine had her chance to go into a Broadway production from the local stock company in which she played. From there she had taken a Hollywood contract.
When she had been in Hollywood a year, her mother died. At the funeral, Patsy begged to be allowed to come to Hollywood. She was terrified and lonely. Christine had offered her a trip to Europe instead, but Patsy wanted to go to Hollywood and held out for it. She went.
Christine tossed in restless slumber, waking now and then to hear the muffled giggles from the living room. At dawn, she roused again. There were sounds of departure outside. She lay quiet, listening. Patsy's footsteps passed her door in the hall. Patsy was going to bed. Christine got up and opened her door, saying softly, "Patsy!"
In the dim light of the hall. Patsy turned, yawning. "You awake?" she said. Her golden hair was tousled and her eyes were heavy with
47
"Preacher! You're always talking as though you had a half interest in me! You've no right to tell me what to do.
I won't stand for it!" Voices bounding out, hard and intense. Christine halted there in the hall, her heart behaving oddly.