“It—it—must come,” she faltered. The Law was around the corner and down the narrow hall, puffing a Virginia Slims Menthol in frantic sips, teetering uncomfortably out of an emergency exit door. She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. He'd have some fun with that Chinaman before the morning was out. She'll have this hour always with her; and you failed her. She mounted the stairs of the theatrical agent’s office with very much less than her usual buoyancy, nor did she find much encouragement in the general appearance of the room into which she was shown. It had been a very long time.
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