Crazy Radio eBooks

"Let's get away from this miserable breakfast table," she said. "Come up
to where I live, where we can be safely by ourselves; then tell me about
it."
In front of her boudoir fire, looking down on her as she sat in her
flowered wing chair, an enormously distended rug-covered pillow beside
her knees waiting for him to drop down on when he felt like it, he began
rather cautiously to tell her what he wanted.
"I'll tell you the reason why I've come to you," he began, "and then
you'll see. Do you remember nearly two years ago, the night I got wet
coming down here to dinner--the night you were going to marry me off to
Hermione Woodruff? We had a long talk afterward, and you said, speaking
of the chances people took getting married, that it wasn't me you
worried about, but the girl, whoever she might be, who married me."
The little gesture she made admitted the recollection, but denied its
relevancy. She'd have said something to that effect, but he prevented
her.
"No," he insisted, "it wasn't just talk.


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