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And she would have to go tomorrow. Nobody ever called me John, that I recollect. Never sent for the shirt. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. Let—it—fall. The stranger started at the touch, and spoke. “I remember when you walked me home. ‘Certainly you must have seen her. Taber?" He wondered if this crystal being was interested in that blundering fool who had gone recklessly into the city. I can decide for myself. 62 <8> A FIRST DATE WITH JOHN DIEDERMAYER The weekend began for her with that luxury of all luxuries, sleep. “You, too,” he said abruptly. Only I wish—I wish to-day I was a thousand times, ten thousand times more beautiful. She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house.
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