"
"I--I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything."
"You can't know--"
"I do know."
"You see, she is almost four now, and beautifully cared for, but, now
that her little mind is beginning to unfold--I--Oh, to be able to afford
a place of my own--next year--when she has outgrown Mrs. Dupree's. You
see, I've never really had her. I've such plans for the day when I can
have her rearing all to myself. I want life to unfold so naturally to
her. Like a flower. That's why I am so terribly jealous of every day we
spend apart. That's why you--you cannot know what it means to have you
tell me that I've made good. It means that the time is nearing for me to
have her with me, to--to--Well, you cannot--cannot know!"
She sat back, feeling foolish because her eyes were filling and trying
to smile back the tears.
He reached over to place his palms over her hand.
"How rightly named you are! 'Lilly.' One of those big, milky-spathed,
calla lilies. Calla Lilly."
"We'll be going now," she said, feeling for her jacket.
They rode down to Eleventh Street in a cab, almost silently, and as she
sat looking out, unsmiling, she could feel his gaze burn her profile.
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