Rinehart, Mary Roberts, 1876-1958 / 2008-11-11 00:00:00
"But--that is very strange. I--"
She had gone pale. I saw that now. And quite suddenly she dropped
her knitting-bag. When I restored it to her, she was very calm and
poised, but her color had not come back.
"It has always been very satisfactory," she said. "I don't know
that it ever--"
She considered, and began again. "Why not just ignore it? If some
one is playing a malicious trick on you, the only thing is to
ignore it."
Her hands were shaking, although her voice was quiet. I saw that
when she tried to tie the ribbons of the bag. And--I wondered at
this, in so gentle a soul--there was a hint of anger in her tones.
There was an edge to her voice.
That she could be angry was a surprise. And I found that she could
also be obstinate. For we came to an impasse over the telephone in
the next few minutes, and over something so absurd that I was
non-plussed. It was over her unqualified refusal to allow me to
install a branch wire to my bedroom.
"But," I expostulated, "when one thinks of the convenience, and--"
"I am sorry." Her voice had a note of finality.
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