So I stopped and looked to see who had spoken to me that way. It was a tall man—a terribly tall man. The shadow of him ran along the floor for yards and doubled up on the ceiling.
“Who are you?” I asked. I was quite angry.
Then he bowed—and you ought to have seen that shadow bow at the same time. It was the funniest thing, and it nearly set me off again, but I crumpled up the sheet in my hands and squeezed it as hard as I could to keep from giggling.
“David Knox,” said the gentleman, “who was unfortunate enough to be the cause of all of your trouble.”
“I am glad to meet you,” I said politely. His bow was so nice I forgave him for yelling: “Stop that!”
“Lorena,” he said under his voice, “I think everything is going to be all right.”
Now you wouldn’t think that remark would make me laugh, would you? Oh, Carin, I’m so ashamed of it, now I remember. But I began to sing:
“‘The years roll slowly by, Lorena,’” and then when I couldn’t think of the next line I cried: “Why doesn’t somebody tell me what comes next?”
Well, they told me if I didn’t keep still they would go out and leave me alone. I didn’t want to be left alone, because just then I took a sort of turn and was afraid to sink down into that gray, still place where I had been. So I said:
“Oh, please stay, please stay, and I will tell you why I laughed at the soup.”