“Oh, I wouldn't go as far as that,” stammered Jimmy.
“Oh, wouldn't you?” cried Alfred, again turning so abruptly that Jimmy caught his breath. Each word of Jimmy's was apparently goading him on to greater anger.
“Now don't get hasty,” Jimmy almost pleaded. “The whole thing is no doubt perfectly innocent. Talk to her gently. Win her confidence. Get her to tell you the truth.”
“The truth!” shouted Alfred in derision. “Zoie! The truth!”
Jimmy feared that his young friend might actually become violent. Alfred bore down upon him like a maniac.
“The truth!” he repeated wildly. “She wouldn't know the truth if she saw it under a microscope. She's the most unconscionable little liar that ever lured a man to the altar.”
Jimmy rolled his round eyes with feigned incredulity.
“I found it out before we'd been married a month,” continued Alfred. “She used to sit evenings facing the clock. I sat with my back to it. I used to ask her the time. Invariably she would lie half an hour, backward or forward, just for practice. THAT was the BEGINNING. Here, listen to some of these,” he added, as he drew half a dozen telegrams from his inner pocket, and motioned Jimmy to sit at the opposite side of the table.
Jimmy would have preferred to stand, but it was not a propitious time to consult his own preferences. He allowed himself to be bullied into the chair that Alfred suggested.
Throwing himself into the opposite chair, Alfred selected various exhibits from his collection of messages. “I just brought these up from the office,” he said. “These are some of the telegrams that she sent me each day last week while I was away. This is Monday's.” And he proceeded to read with a sneering imitation of Zoie's cloy sweetness.