Darned if you aren't."
To her own complete surprise Lulu's eyes filled with tears, and she
could not speak. She was by no means above self-sympathy.
"And there ain't," said Cornish sorrowfully, "there ain't a thing I can
do."
And yet he was doing much. He was gentle, he was listening, and on his
face a frown of concern. His face continually surprised her, it was so
fine and alive and near, by comparison with Ninian's loose-lipped,
ruddy, impersonal look and Dwight's thin, high-boned hardness. All the
time Cornish gave her something, instead of drawing upon her. Above all,
he was there, and she could talk to him.
"It's--it's funny," Lulu said. "I'd be awful glad if I just _could_
know for sure that the other woman was alive--if I couldn't know she's
dead."
This surprising admission Cornish seemed to understand.
"Sure you would," he said briefly.
"Cora Waters," Lulu said. "Cora Waters, of San Diego, California. And
she never heard of me."
"No," Cornish admitted. They stared at each other as across some abyss.
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