Startled, I thought I must have taken the message incorrectly, but it was repeated.
“Mr. Farrow is dead. Cass will hear later.” When I insisted that this could not be true, it was reiterated. “Yes, he is here, and b ... blon ... latter ... bewildered. Mary K.”
Our personal relations with Mr. Farrow, while pleasant, have never been close, being based entirely upon a business connection, and my affections were in no way responsible for my resistance to this announcement, nor would our personal affairs have been in any way influenced by his death. But I did not believe it.
“Farrow is here with us. May ... Mary K.” This signature was slow and irresolute, beginning as Maynard and ending as Mary K., but lacking the firmness of either—an indecision and inconsequence characteristic, I have since learned, of disintegrating force in these invasions.
“Was he killed in an accident?”
“No. Pneumonia. Maynard. Tell Cass.”
“Shall I telephone to Cass now?”
“No. I am watching over him. Maynard.”
The use of the word “dead” in this connection was surprising, since the whole trend of former communications had been toward elimination of the idea of death. Once more I asked Mary K. if they were sure there had been no mistake.