“Well, I ain’t giving you no trouble. Think I don’t like to talk to somebody ever’ once in a while?
Think I like to stick in that house alla time?” Candy laid the stump of his wrist on his knee and rubbed it gently with his hand.
He said accusingly, “You gotta husban’. You got no call foolin’ aroun’ with other guys, causin’ trouble.”
The girl flared up. “Sure I gotta husban’. You all seen him. Swell guy, ain’t he?
Spends all his time sayin’ what he’s gonna do to guys he don’t like, and he don’t like nobody.
Think I’m gonna stay in that two-by-four house and listen how Curley’s gonna lead with his left twict,
and then bring in the ol’ right cross? ‘One-two,’ he says. ‘Jus’ the ol’ one-two an’ he’ll go down.’”
She paused and her face lost its sullenness and grew interested. “Say—what happened to Curley’s han’?”
There was an embarrassed silence. Candy stole a look at Lennie. Then he coughed.
“Why... Curley... he got his han’ caught in a machine, ma’am. Bust his han’.”
She watched for a moment, and then she laughed. “Baloney! What you think you’re sellin’ me? Curley started som’pin’ he didn’...”
“Caught in a machine—baloney! Why, he ain't give nobody the good of one-two since he got his han' bust. Who bust him?”
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