"
"Don't sing it. Explain it," Kedzie sneered.
Ferriday laughed so delightedly that he must embrace her. She shoved
him back and brushed the imaginary dust of his contact from the
shoulders that had but lately been compressed by a million dollars.
"I see you landed him," said Ferriday.
"And I see that all your talk about loving me so much was just
a fake," said Kedzie.
"Why do you say that? I adore you."
"If you did, would you throw me at the head of another fellow?"
asked Kedzie.
"If it was for the advancement of your career, yes," Ferriday
insisted.
"What's Mr. Dyckman got to do with my career?"
"He can make it, if he doesn't break it."
"Come again."
"If you fall in love with that big thug, or if you play him for
a limousine like a chorus-girl on the make, your career is gone.
But if you use him for your future--well, I have a little scheme
that might bounce you up to the sky in a hurry. You could have your
millionaire and your fame as well."
"What's the little scheme, Ferri darling?"
"I'll tell you later. We've got to go to the projection-room and
see your new film run off. It's assembled, cut, subtitled, ready
for the market. Come along."
Kedzie went along and sat in the dark room watching the reel go by.
Her other selves came forth in troops to reveal themselves: Kedzie
the poor little shy girl, for she was that at times; Kedzie the
petulant, the revengeful, the forgiving; Kedzie on her knees in
prayer--she prayed at times, as everybody does, the most villainous
no less ardently than the most blameless; Kedzie dancing; Kedzie
flirting, in love, tempted, tipsy; Kedzie seduced, deserted,
forgiven, converted, happily married; Kedzie a mother with a little
hired baby at her little breast.
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