Free My Sister's Hand in Mine by Jane Bowles

care.” Mrs. Copperfield shuddered. She thought she must be dreaming.
    â€œWhat do you mean, a feather? What do you mean?”
    The girl squirmed with delight.
    â€œOh, Momma,” she said in a voice which broke in her throat. “Oh, Momma, you’re funny! You’re so funny. I don’t know what is a feather, but anything you want with your heart, you know.”
    They walked down the street to a store and came out with a little box of face powder. The girl said good-by and disappeared round the corner with some friends. Once again Mrs. Copperfield was alone. The hacks went past filled with tourists. “Tourists, generally speaking,” Mrs. Copperfield had written in her journal, “are human beings so impressed with the importance and immutability of their own manner of living that they are capable of traveling through the most fantastic places without experiencing anything more than a visual reaction. The hardier tourists find that one place resembles another.”
    Very soon Mr. Copperfield came back and joined her. “Did you have a wonderful time?” he asked her.
    She shook her head and looked up at him. Suddenly she felt so tired that she began to cry.
    â€œCry-baby,” said Mr. Copperfield.
    Someone came up behind them. A low voice said: “She was lost?” They turned around to see an intelligent-looking girl with sharp features and curly hair standing right behind them. “I wouldn’t leave her in the streets here if I were you,” she said.
    â€œShe wasn’t lost; she was just depressed,” Mr. Copperfield explained.
    â€œWould you think I was fresh if I asked you to come to a nice restaurant where we can all eat dinner?” asked the girl. She was really quite pretty.
    â€œLet’s go,” said Mrs. Copperfield vehemently. “By all means.” She was now excited; she had a feeling that this girl would be all right. Like most people, she never really believed that one terrible thing would happen after another.
    The restaurant wasn’t really nice. It was very dark and very long and there was no one in it at all.
    â€œWouldn’t you rather eat somewhere else?” Mrs. Copperfield asked the girl.
    â€œOh no! I would never go anywhere else. I’ll tell you if you are not angry. I can get a little bit of money here when I come and bring some people.”
    â€œWell, let me give you the money and we’ll go somewhere else. “I’ll give you whatever he gives you,” said Mrs. Copperfield.
    â€œThat’s silly,” said the girl. “That’s very silly.”
    â€œI have heard there is a place in this city where we can order wonderful lobster. Couldn’t we go there?” Mrs. Copperfield was pleading with the girl now.
    â€œNo—that’s silly.” She called a waiter who had just arrived with some newspapers under his arm.
    â€œAdalberto, bring us some meat and some wine. Meat first.” This she said in Spanish.
    â€œHow well you speak English!” said Mr. Copperfield.
    â€œI always love to be with Americans when I can,” said the girl.
    â€œDo you think they’re generous?” asked Mr. Copperfield.
    â€œOh, sure,” said the girl. “Sure they’re generous. They’re generous when they have the money. They’re even more generous when they’ve got their family with them. I once knew a man. He was an American man. A real one, and he was staying at the Hotel Washington. You know that’s the most beautiful hotel in the world. In the afternoon every day his wife would take a siesta. He would come quickly in a taxicab to Colon and he was so excited and frightened that he would not get back to his wife on time that he would never take me into a room and so he would go with me instead to a store and he would say to me: ‘Quick, quick—pick something—anything that you want, but be in a hurry about it.”
    â€œHow