“Everything.”
His lips were dry, and on his face came a look of anguish–of unspeakable shame. There was a pause, broken only by the faint sound of the flatiron.
“Then I really talked about you–at one time?”
She nodded.
“More than once?”
“For days together.”
Pats closed his eyes in pain, and there was a silence. Then he opened them: “Would you mind telling me some of the things I said?”
“I could not remember.”
“Have you forgotten all?”
“No–but I prefer not repeating them.”