Crazy Radio eBooks

"You may go home, Miss Beach," he said. "I'm staying on for a while but
I shan't want you." Then, to the office boy: "You, too, Albert."
He waited till he heard them go, then went out and disconnected his own
desk telephone, which the office boy, on going home, always left plugged
through; went back into his inner office again and shut the door after
him.
There was more than enough pressing work on his desk to fill the clear
hour that remained to him before he had to start for home. But he didn't
mean to do it. He didn't mean to do anything except drink down thirstily
the sixty minutes of pure solitude that were before him; to let his mind
run free from the clutch of circumstance. That hour had become a habit
with him lately, like--he smiled at the comparison--like taking a drug.
When something happened that forced him to forego it, he felt
cheated--irrationally irritable. He was furtive about it, too. He never
corrected Rose's assumption that the thing which kept him late at the
office so much of the time nowadays was a press of work.


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