When
will you learn to believe in Emma McChesney?"
She was out of the office before he had time to answer, leaving him
standing there.
In the dusk of a late winter evening just three weeks later, a man
paused at the door of the unlighted office marked "Mrs. McChesney." He
looked about a moment, as though dreading detection. Then he opened
the door, stepped into the dim quiet of the little room, and closed
the door gently after him. Everything in the tiny room was quiet,
neat, orderly. It seemed to possess something of the character of its
absent owner. The intruder stood there a moment, uncertainly, looking
about him.
Then he took a step forward and laid one hand on the back of the empty
chair before the closed desk. He shut his eyes and it seemed that he
felt her firm, cool, reassuring grip on his fingers as they clutched
the wooden chair. The impression was so strong that he kept his eyes
shut, and they were still closed when his voice broke the silence of
the dim, quiet little room.
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