(Via:Here.)
"Yer gals is too particklar," he had grumbled on more than one occasion—but Julia never twisted her rules for anyone.
It was only a yellow dog—with scabrous contusion on its ribs and—a prodigious, drooping tongue. She stippled at her brow with a wadded-up mouchoir—impotent to purge herself of the hypothesis she was being watched. A welcome notion—popped up into her sanity. There had been an imbecile blunder.
Somewhere close by there was another Greenwood Junction—a hectic megalopolis of guffawing people—of cunningly painted buildings with a green park on the faubourgs. Her fingers writhed a knot of ribbon on the muslin skirt. Oh, surely there has been a mistake…..or conceivably some unfortunate tragedy…..
"Look animated, there!"
She hopped aside as a body rushed down beside her—followed by two others in expeditious succession. Boxes of goods—shipped from the East. Two contorted valises made the same short trip from the top of the motor vehicle. When the guard put his brawny hands on the humpbacked luggage compartment that had arrived from Ireland with her grandmother—her green eyes coruscated alertly.
"Sir! If you delight—be tender with my trunk! My grandmother's China set is in there." It makes no odd what provocation, a graduate of Miss Emerson's Academy for Young Gentlewomen never forgets she is a lady. Somehow it was becoming more and more strenuous to recollect that.
The man beamed affably. An entreaty for punctilious handling frequently—led a serrate increase in the plummeting velocity of the next piece of luggage—but he perceived affection today. She was a fetching elfin filly—that dark-haired lady they'd taken on at Santa Clarita.
Irie breasts for her size. She'd look damn fine naked. "Sure thing ma'am." Kinking a piece of rope twice around the trunk—he lowered it down the side, pondering what a gorgeous lady and her grandmother's dishes—were doing in a hell-hole like Greenwood Junction.
Mounting down casually—he expectorated a stream of amber juice around the plug of tobacco that bulged his narrow cheek. "She sure doesn't belong here," he mumbled.
He traversed the street to Julia's place—anxious for whiskey, women, grub and a hot bath; that was the top tier in which he wanted to have his needs packed—but he knew Julia would govern otherwise. "Yer gals is too particklar," he had grumbled on more than one occasion—but Julia never twisted her rules for anyone.