Gigolo by Edna Ferber Chapter 6 Page 42

three weeks of torture, he would fix his eye on a tree ten feet away, up the steep trail. And to himself he would say, “I’ll struggle, somehow, as far as that tree, and then die under it.” And he would stagger another ten feet, his heart pounding in the unaccustomed altitude, his lungs bursting, his lips parted, his breath coming sobbingly, his eyes starting from his head. Leaping lightly ahead of him, around the bend, was Jessie, always. She had a way of calling to the laggard — hallooing, I believe it’s supposed to be. And she expected an answer. An answer! When your lungs were bursting through your chest and your heart was crowding your tonsils. When he reached her it was always to find her perched on a seemingly inaccessible rock, demanding that he join her to admire the view. Before three days had gone by the sound of that