Then, without waiting for him to say more I turned away and ran breathlessly up the steps into the office.
The brilliant light in the city news room met me squarely as I opened the door. I blinked a little—then raised my left hand and examined it closely. It looked—awful! I had worn that same ring ever since I was seventeen years old—and I felt as I might feel if I'd just had my hair cut off or suffered some other unprecedented loss.
The city editor looked up from his desk.
"Well?" he inquired. "Have you got it?"
I was still gazing at that left hand.
"No," I answered stupidly. "It's gone!"
He jumped to his feet.
"Here!" he commanded sharply. "Sit down here!"
I sat down, letting my bag slide to the floor.
"You don't feel sick—do you?"