Then he slid up closer in the heather, and kissed her.

His heart, which had seemed all frostbound for months, melted, and that hunger for love--home-love, mother-love--which was, perhaps, at the very bottom of his moody complex youth, found a voice.
'Louie, couldn't yo be nice to me soomtimes--couldn't yo just take an interest, like, yo know--as if yo cared a bit--couldn't yo?
Other gells do.

I'm a brute to yo, I know, often, but yo keep aggin an teasin, an theer's niver a bit o' peace.

Look here, Loo, yo give up, an I'st give up.

Theer's nobbut us two--nawbody else cares a ha'porth about the yan or the tother--coom along! yo give up, an I'st give up.' He looked at her anxiously.