"I'm so glad!"
"Sure you are. We're all glad, I guess."
"And—Charlie—" she stammered.
"Hello?"
"Are you—are you all right?"
"Sure I'm all right. Good night, girlie. Take care of yourself. See you tomorrow."
"Good night," said Joan.
Hooking up the receiver, she leaned momentarily against the wall, feeling a little faint and ill.
Was it simply overtaxed imagination that had made her believe she detected a slight constraint in Quard's voice—a hesitation assumed to mask blurred enunciation?