"It does sound kind of like a geography lesson or something.

But I think I'll call you Sarah, I mean when we're alone." "Well, that's more than Ma ever does, and you bet it'll never get into my press notices.

But go ahead if you want to." "I will, Sarah.

It sounds more like a true woman than 'Flips.'" "Bless the child's heart," she murmured, and reached across the lunch box to pat his hand again.
"You're a great little patter, Sarah," he observed with one of his infrequent attempts at humour.
On still another day, while they idled between scenes, she talked to him about salaries and contracts, again with her important air of mothering him.
"After this picture," she told him, "Jeff was going to sew you up with a long-time contract, probably at a hundred and fifty per.

But I've told him plain I won't stand for it.