“If you know so much about manuscripts,” she charged. “What would you do with a page like that?”
Half hoping that the handwriting was Dale Meredith’s, Judy reached out an eager hand. The agent was watching her like a cat and, as she read, a hush settled over the room. Emily Grimshaw was putting Judy to a test.
CHAPTER V
THE TEST
The paper that Judy held in her hand was a jumble of morbid poetry written in what could have been a beautiful hand. Actually, it was an almost unreadable scrawl. In some places the rhymes were in perfect sequence, but in others the poet had wandered away from what must have been the theme to play with words that apparently amused her. Finally Judy made out this much:
When Love turns thief, grief, sheaf, oh, disbelief
’Tis memories that sting, ring, cling like anything.
When Joy departs, starts, smarts, makes broken hearts ...
Too close I kept you, Joy.