"Yes, he's here," she said, passing me the instrument.
"It's for you," she observed. "It's Virginia calling from New York and she sounds most annoyed."
[CHAPTER 3]
"Winnie!" The voice that crackled at me over the wire had all the implacable tenderness of a woman who has you in the wrong.
"Yes, dear!" I answered automatically, with a passing thought for my own lost Dorothy, marooned in Washington with a job in the O.S.S.
"What is the matter?" the voice continued, in its litany of angry possessiveness. "What on earth happened to you? I've been waiting for you since three o'clock."
"Where have you been waiting?"
"Here—of course. In our place. In New York. Winnie, what's wrong?"
Not a pleasant spot to be in, even if it was only part of a trial-run in purgatory.