He shook his head. “I don’t know—I don’t know how bad he’s in.”
“Will I know what happens?” she questioned.
“You—you ain’t his wife, are you?” he asked uncertainly.
“No,” she answered, her wide eyes looking at him unfalteringly.
“The government only notifies the wife or next of kin,” he mumbled, as though repeating a formula.
“I’m goin’ back to Hart’s Run,” she told him simply. “If the law wants me, too, I’ll be there. My name’s Julie Rose.”
“Here, Jack, where in the hell are you?” the sheriff bawled from outside.
“Coming!” the lingerer cried, and went, slipping the postcard into his pocket.
Julie stumbled to the window and peered out. Tim was walking between the two men. As they came to the corner where he had always turned to wave a farewell to her, he paused now and half turning raised his hand, but the sheriff struck it angrily down and thrust him on around the corner out of sight.
Julie stood a long time, her head pressed hard against the window frame, her eyes fixed blankly on the street; but she knew that she must face it sometime, and at last she jerked herself round, and, straining back against the sill, let the empty desolation of the room rush over her.