"What is this dreadful thing you have done?" he finally asked. "Tell me, Cassie. You know I am your friend, and you can trust me. Tell me. If it is a secret, you may be sure I'll never breathe it to a living being."
"Oh, I know that, Frank. I would trust you with any secret. But it is so terrible that I—I'm ashamed to tell you."
She turned her head away, and the curly hair of her blond wig fell across her cheek and hid her painted face.
"Tell me!" he urged.
"Frank," she said, "I prayed for pop—prayed that he might stop drinking."
"Yes, Cassie, that was a good prayer."
"But he did not stop."
"He hasn't yet. He may."
"He will not till he has had his spree. When I found my prayer was not answered I did a dreadful thing."
A shiver ran over her.