But I am sick of tearing up letters and hopeless of getting what I have to say better said. Wild," said the turnkey, trembling in every joint. She produced from the depths of her pride the ugly investigatory note of the modern district visitor. Still—” Then, with incredible and obviously deliberate stupidity, and a voice as flat as her own, he asked, “Who is the man?” Her spirit raged within her at the dumbness, the paralysis that had fallen upon her. I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. Jonathan laughed scornfully. “Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them.
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