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           Myrapicturedanall-nighttobaccodebauch,withAmorypaleandreelingfromtheeffectofnicotinedlungs.Shegavealittlegasp.

           "Oh,Amory,don’tsmoke.You’llstuntyourgrowth!"

           "Idon’tcare,"hepersistedgloomily."Igotta.Igotthehabit.I’vedonealotofthingsthatifmyfamblyknew"—hehesitated,givingherimaginationtimetopicturedarkhorrors—"Iwenttotheburlesqueshowlastweek."

           Myrawasquiteovercome.Heturnedthegreeneyesonheragain."You’retheonlygirlintownIlikemuch,"heexclaimedinarushofsentiment."You’resimpatico."

           Myrawasnotsurethatshewas,butitsoundedstylishthoughvaguelyimproper.

           Thickduskhaddescendedoutside,andasthelimousinemadeasuddenturnshewasjoltedagainsthim;theirhandstouched.

           "Youshouldn’tsmoke,Amory,"shewhispered."Don’tyouknowthat?"

           Heshookhishead.

           "Nobodycares."

           Myrahesitated.

           "Icare."

           SomethingstirredwithinAmory.

           "Oh,yes,youdo!YougotacrushonFroggyParker.Iguesseverybodyknowsthat."

           "No,Ihaven’t,"veryslowly.

           Asilence,whileAmorythrilled.TherewassomethingfascinatingaboutMyra,shutawayherecosilyfromthedim,chillair.Myra,alittlebundleofclothes,withstrandsofyellowhaircurlingoutfromunderherskatingcap.

           "BecauseI’vegotacrush,too—"Hepaused,forheheardinthedistancethesoundofyounglaughter,and,peeringthroughthefrostedglassalongthelamp-litstreet,hemadeoutthedarkoutlineofthebobbingparty.Hemustactquickly.