Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. His heart was beating, but faintly and slowly, with ominous intermissions. “Yes,” she said, “that is what we ought to do. “I’ve gotta go. I won’t try. " Ah Cum smiled. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted. The performance over, he relaxed and closed his eyes. He left his office at 5:39 according to her watch. Maggot. Good night.
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