“My, I’ve got to catch that 9:32 for Tarascon!”
He pulled out his watch, then turned the dial to me sheepishly. Under the crystal was a tiny slip of narrow ribbon, baby blue.
“So long,” he said. “Mayn’t see you again. This is my last trip. The firm’s giving me a city job, where I can be with the family.”
IN COLD BLOOD
By Joseph Hall
With the door of her room locked Viola Perrin opened the letter which she had taken from her husband’s office table. It was not very securely glued, and she succeeded in loosening the flap without marring the envelope.
When she had read it she dropped the thing upon her dressing table and stared with dry, unseeing eyes into the mirror. Her world had crumbled. She did not burst into tears. She was one of those women who cannot weep. The thing that had happened to her left her racked, writhing, tearless.
Suddenly the horror of the thing struck her with full force. St. John was untrue. He was intriguing with another woman even while he was being the same courteous, attentive husband to her that he had always been. She rose and clenched her hands fiercely. She caught her lower lip cruelly between her teeth. For the first time in her life she wanted to scream.
In an instant she was hot with anger and hurt pride. She rose quickly and dressed for the street. She hurried. She must get away. She had no right in this room, in this house, in the house of a man who did not love her.
Outside she walked to the street car. She had no plan. She did not intend to go to his office. She was simply getting away from his home.