She went over and over them--and they began to seem true: "Only ONE girl he could feel THAT sorry for!" "Gurney says he's got you on his brain so bad--" The man's clumsy talk began to sing in her heart.
The song was begun there when she saw the accident.
She was directly opposite the Sheridan Building then, waiting for the traffic to thin before she crossed, though other people were risking the passage, darting and halting and dodging parlously.

Two men came from the crowd behind her, talking earnestly, and started across.

Both wore black; one was tall and broad and thick, and the other was taller, but noticeably slender.

And Mary caught her breath, for they were Bibbs and his father.

They did not see her, and she caught a phrase in Bibbs's mellow voice, which had taken a crisper ring: "Sixty-eight thousand dollars?
Not sixty-eight thousand buttons!" It startled her queerly, and as there was a glimpse of his profile she saw for the first time a resemblance to his father.
She watched them.