"Wal, I reckon I wouldn't have hurt you. None of these flop-over Janes for
me! . . . An' I'll give you a hunch, Pretty Eyes. You might have run acrost
a fellar thet was no gentleman!"
Of all the amazing statements that had ever been made to Carley, this one
seemed the most remarkable.
"What'd you wear thet onnatural white dress fer?" he demanded, as if he
had a right to be her judge.
"Unnatural?" echoed Carley.
"Shore. Thet's what I said. Any woman's dress without top or bottom is
onnatural. It's not right. Why, you looked like--like"--here he floundered
for adequate expression--"like one of the devil's angels. An' I want to
hear why you wore it."
"For the same reason I'd wear any dress," she felt forced to reply.
"Pretty Eyes, thet's a lie. An' you know it's a lie. You wore thet white
dress to knock the daylights out of men. Only you ain't honest enough to
say so . . . . Even me or my kind! Even us, who're dirt under your little
feet. But all the same we're men, an' mebbe better men than you think. If
you had to put that dress on, why didn't you stay in your room? Naw, you
had to come down an' strut around an' show off your beauty. An' I ask you--
if you're a nice girl like Flo Hutter--what'd you wear it fer?"
Carley not only was mute; she felt rise and burn in her a singular shame
and surprise.
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