George said, “I want you to stay with me, Lennie. Jesus Christ, somebody’d shoot you for a coyote if you was by yourself.
No, you stay with me. Your Aunt Clara wouldn’t like you running off by yourself, even if she is dead.”
Lennie spoke craftily, “Tell me—like you done before.”
“Tell you what?” “About the rabbits.” George snapped, “You ain’t gonna put nothing over on me.”
Lennie pleads, “Come on, George. Tell me. Please, George. Like you done before.”
“You get a kick outta that, don’t you? Awright, I’ll tell you, and then we’ll eat our supper....”
George’s voice became deeper. He repeated his words rhythmically as though he had said them many times before.
“Guys like us, that work on ranches, are the loneliest guys in the world. They got no family. They don’t belong no place.”
“They come to a ranch an’ work up a stake and then they go inta town and blow their stake,”
“and the first thing you know they’re poundin’ their tail on some other ranch. They ain’t got nothing to look ahead to.”
Lennie was delighted. “That’s it - that’s it. Now tell how it is with us.”
George went on. “With us it ain’t like that. We got a future. We got somebody to talk to that gives a damn about us.”
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