There's nothing to
tell."
"Nonsense. I come down the street in my boat. A white-faced gentleman
with a cigarette looks out from a window when I stop at the door, and
ducks back when I glance up. I come in and find a pet dog, obviously
overfed at ordinary times, whining with hunger on the stairs. As
I prepare to feed him, a pale woman comes down, trying to put a
right-hand glove on her left hand, and with her jacket wrong side out.
What am I to think?"
I started and looked at my coat. He was right. And when, as I tried to
take it off, he helped me, and even patted me on the shoulder--what
with his kindness, and the long morning alone, worrying, and the
sleepless night, I began to cry. He had a clean handkerchief in my
hand before I had time to think of one.
"That's it," he said. "It will do you good, only don't make a noise
about it. If it's a husband on the annual flood spree, don't worry,
madam. They always come around in time to whitewash the cellars."
"It isn't a husband," I sniffled.
"Tell me about it," he said.
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