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Lewis, Sinclair, 1885-1951

"Our Mr. Wrenn, the Romantic Adventures of a Gentle Man"

"
"Oh dear, dear! This is very dreadful. You're so used to me now
that you aren't even scared of me any more."
"Gee! I guess I'll be scared of you all right as soon as I get
you into a dry place, but I ain't got time now. Sitting on a
manger! Ain't this the funniest place!... Now I must beat it
out and find a house. There ought to be one somewheres near here."
"And leave me here in the darknesses and wetnesses? Not a chance.
The rain'll soon be over, anyway. Really, I don't mind a bit.
I think it's rather fun."
Her voice was natural again, natural and companionable and brave.
She laughed as she stroked her wet shoulder and held his hand,
sitting quietly and bidding him listen to the soft forlorn
sound of the rain on the thatch.
But the rain was not soon over, and their dangling position was
very much like riding a rail.
"I'm so uncomfortable!" fretted Istra.
"See here, Istra, please, I think I'd better go see if I can't
find a house for you to get dry in."
"I feel too wretched to go any place.


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