Oh, 'pals' is all right--but five thousand dollars--to have
played it right into his hands--God DAMN the luck!"
CHAPTER 8
The next two months were delightful. Trina and McTeague saw each other
regularly, three times a week. The dentist went over to B Street Sunday
and Wednesday afternoons as usual; but on Fridays it was Trina who came
to the city. She spent the morning between nine and twelve o'clock down
town, for the most part in the cheap department stores, doing the weekly
shopping for herself and the family. At noon she took an uptown car and
met McTeague at the corner of Polk Street. The two lunched together at
a small uptown hotel just around the corner on Sutter Street. They
were given a little room to themselves. Nothing could have been more
delicious. They had but to close the sliding door to shut themselves off
from the whole world.
Trina would arrive breathless from her raids upon the bargain counters,
her pale cheeks flushed, her hair blown about her face and into the
corners of her lips, her mother's net reticule stuffed to bursting. Once
in their tiny private room, she would drop into her chair with a little
groan.
"Oh, MAC, I am so tired; I've just been all OVER town.
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