In his apartment, came the reaction. He lay on his back on the upset divan, his hand still gripped around the paper, and wept softly and bitterly. When he had stopped shaking he went to the desk, smoothed out the paper and read it, a definite horror on his face. Then anger relieved his fear and he struck the note repeatedly with his fist. Throwing it into the metal wastebasket, he tossed burning matches after it until the confessional was alight with flames. Methodically he straightened the room and took the robe from the mirror. Looking into the glass, he held out his hand and with amazing swiftness struck the side of his face.
Later, in the bathroom, he saw with satisfaction the purple outline of his fingers on his cheek.
CHAPTER XXVI
Deane answered the telephone nervously. A voice, thin and unsteady, came over the wire.
“Deane? This is Roberts.”
With difficulty Deane restrained a sudden feeling of panic.
The adviser spoke quickly, without waiting for her acknowledgment.
“This is rather unusual, but I assure you the situation is imperative enough to justify its obvious lack of convention.”