"Clancy, you idiot! All these people! Stop it!"
"But get the grace! Get the easy English hang, at once so
loose and so clinging."
Fanny grinned, appreciatively, and led the way through the
gate to the train. She was surprisingly glad to be
with him again. On discovering that, she began to talk
rapidly, and about him.
"Tell me, how do you manage to keep that fresh viewpoint?
Everybody else who comes to New York to write loses his
identity. The city swallows him up. I mean by that, that
things seem to strike you as freshly as they did when you
first came. I remember you wrote me an amazing letter."
"For one thing, I'll never be anything but a foreigner in
New York. I'll never quite believe Broadway. I'll never
cease to marvel at Fifth avenue, and Cooper Union, and the
Bronx. The time may come when I can take the subway for
granted, but don't ask it of me just yet."
"But the other writers--and all those people who live down
in Washington Square?"
"I never see them. It's sure death. Those Greenwichers are
always taking out their own feelings and analyzing them, and
pawing them over, and passing them around.
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