I wrote three letters yesterday and tore them up. Even the stars were strangers. The second look told me I was wrong. His science was a shared secret between them and she felt special to be trusted with them. T’weren’t fitting, we knew that. The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. He had got here at speed by that means. Both had lived rather quietly until a scandal had opened up a can of worms for the son, allegations of child abduction, reported sightings of a white van around nearby elementary schools. ‘Well, young man,’ he said, ‘we haven’t seen you lately,’ and something about ‘Bateson & Co. But she veiled her feelings. Do you know of what I speak?” “I do, I do!” She said. Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching.
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