Nine Short Stories by Rex Stout

Nine Short Stories by Rex Stout

Author:Rex Stout
Format: epub
Publisher: ManyBooks.net


"I do."

"It's funny you never said anything about it."

"Good Heavens!" Again the little man glared. "It was you who wouldn't let me say anything! Simple enough, since you weren't in love with me."

"That isn't true."

"It is."

"I say it isn't."

Mr. Warner advanced a step. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded. "Were you in love with me?"

Silence. He advanced another step, and repeated his question. "Were you in love with me?"

Lora nodded her head slowly up and down, and there came to Mr. Warner's ears a barely audible: "Yes."

That, entirely unexpected, brought him to a halt. He didn't know what to say, and ended by dropping back into his chair and muttering "Too bad it ended so soon."

Five seconds passed in silence, then Lora suddenly fired a question.

"Timmie, why do you think I came here for you tonight?"

"Because you missed me," he replied moodily.

"Worse than that. Because I couldn't live without you. I know now, because I've tried it."

She rose from her chair, crossed to his side and laid a hand on his arm. "Listen, dear." He stirred uneasily. "No, don't move. I'm not going to make love to you, and I don't want to argue. I just want to ask you once more to come home with me, and tell you why.

"Last night I nearly cried my eyes out. I was miserable and unhappy and I couldn't go to sleep. I tried for hours, and then I got up and went to your room and cried all over your pillow. I don't know whether I love you or not, but I do know that unless you come home with me I don't want to live. You said something just now--I know I'm not a lawyer; that is, your kind of a lawyer. I found it out last night. I'll admit I'd hate to give up my office, because there are parts of the work I love. But-- couldn't we make it Warner & Warner? Of course, the first Warner would be you. Or even"--she smiled--"Warner & Wife."

It would seem that so extended and gracious a speech as that would deserve a careful and thoughtful answer. But Mr. Warner appeared to think otherwise. All he said was:

"Why did you cry last night?"

"Because I wanted you. I wanted you worse than I've ever wanted anything in my life."

"And you--cried on my pillow?"

"Yes."

"Which one? The one on the outside?"

"Yes. It seemed to bring me nearer to you. I kissed it, too. I--I wished it was you, Timmie. Wasn't I silly?"

"No." Something seemed to be wrong with Mr. Warner's voice. "No, I don't think you were silly."

"But I was. You see, I realized what I had been missing for so many years, and I was crying for that, too. I had just found out that I was married to a very wonderful man and didn't have sense enough to know it. And the hardest part was to know that I had thrown your love away."

"You couldn't know that--"

"Ah, but I did!"

"--because it isn't true.



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