A
week--and her voice left her again, and Hicks could
not bring it back. As she left his office, it was raining
--an icy, dreary drizzle. She splashed her way home,
in about the lowest spirits she had ever known. She
locked her door and seated herself at the window and
stared out, while the storm raged within her. After
an hour or two she wrote and sent Moldini a note:
``I have been making a fool of myself. I'll not come
again until I am all right. Be patient with me. I
don't think this will occur again.'' She first wrote
``happen.'' She scratched it out and put ``occur'' in
its place. Not that Moldini would have noted the slip;
simply that she would not permit herself the satisfaction
of the false and self-excusing ``happen.'' It had
not been a ``happen.'' It had been a deliberate folly,
a lapse to the Mildred she had buried the day she
sent Donald Keith away. When the note was on its
way, she threw out all her medicines, and broke the
new spraying apparatus Hicks had instructed her to
buy.
Pages:
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529