Louise looked again at the historical lines. “I hate it,” she mildly remarked.
“Tell Walter so—not me!”
“Oh no,” she sighed. “The poor little lines meant well enough.”
While her remark did not make sense to him, it seemed an echo of something he had once said to himself; it brought a dim recollection of pain.
“But I would tell him at a pinch,” she continued. “I’m no doll that says only the ugly things for which you press a button in its back!”
“Ungainly sentence, that!”
He remembered now. It was the ghostly little gramaphone record, that had brought him a message about Dare.
“It’s an ungainly subject,” she retorted, absent-mindedly.
“Change it then. There’s always the monkey.”
“Yes, there’s him. Aren’t you glad?”