. . . How silly he had
looked when her fist met his jaw. . . . It had turned cold;
why didn't they have steam on? The middle of
October. . . . Teddy, how could you do it! How could you
do it! . . . Was he still lying in a heap on the floor?
But of course the sneaking little Jap had found him. . . .
Somebody to talk to. That was what she wanted. Some one to
talk to. . . .
Some one to talk to. She stood there, in the middle of her
lamp-lighted living room, and she held out her hands in
silent appeal. Some one to talk to. In her mind she went
over the list of those whose lives had touched hers in the
last few crowded years. Fenger, Fascinating Facts, Ella
Monahan, Nathan Haynes; all the gay, careless men and women
she had met from time to time through Fenger and Fascinating
Facts. Not one of them could she turn to now.
Clarence Heyl. She breathed a sigh of relief. Clarence
Heyl. He had helped her once, to-day. And now, for the
second time, something that he had said long before came
from its hiding place in her subconscious mind.
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