"Born there," replied the guide.
Nucky gasped with surprise. "How'd you ever happen to come out here?"
"I can't live anywhere else because of chronic asthma. I don't know
now that I'd want to live anywhere else. I used to kick against the
pricks, but you get more sense as you grow older--after it's too late."
"I should think you'd rather be dead," said Nucky sincerely. "If I
thought I couldn't get back to MacDougal Street I'd want to die."
"MacDougal Street and the dice, I suppose, eh? Enoch, you're on the
wrong track and I know, because that's the track I tried myself. And I
got stung."
"But--" began Nucky.
"No but about it. It's the wrong track and you can't get to decency or
happiness or contentment on it. There's two things a man can never
make anything real out of; cards or women."
"I didn't want to make anything out of women. I want to get even with
'em, blank blank 'em all," cried Nucky with sudden fury. And he burst
into an obscene tirade against the sex that utterly astonished the
guide. He lay with his chin supported on his elbow, staring at the
boy, at his thin, strongly marked features, and at the convulsive
working of his throat as he talked.
"Here! Dry up!" Frank cried at last.
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