Strange, I shouldn't know him when he called on me. “No Christmas dinner,” she said, “or anything nice! One doesn’t even know what you are doing. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. He heard the struggle on the landing, the fall of the heavy body, the groan,—and excited almost to frenzy by his fears, he succeeded in forcing open the door. For a long time to come that would naturally be the theme of any story he undertook to write. ‘I don’t know what the devil you’re talking about.
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