“Come on,” she whispered throatily. “Let’s get out of here. Makes me damned nervous.”
Outside in the hot brightness of the street Brett looked up at the treetops in the wind. The praying had not been much of a success.
“Don’t know why I get so nervy in church,” Brett said. “Never does me any good.”
We walked along.
“I’m damned bad for a religious atmosphere,” Brett said. “I’ve the wrong type of face.
“You know,” Brett said, “I’m not worried about him at all. I just feel happy about him.”
“Good.”
“I wish the wind would drop, though.”
“It’s liable to go down by five o’clock.”
“Let’s hope.”
“You might pray,” I laughed.
“Never does me any good. I’ve never gotten anything I prayed for. Have you?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Oh, rot,” said Brett. “Maybe it works for some people, though. You don’t look very religious, Jake.”
“I’m pretty religious.”