large/8432/short_ghost_horror_12_1102_64kb_mp3/ghohor012_07_eachmankills_glad_um_64kb_44
large/8432/short_ghost_horror_12_1102_64kb_mp3/ghohor012_07_eachmankills_glad_um_64kb
English
8432
Dear Morris: (It began) Why should I not have wanted Maria? You did; others doubtless did. Why then should she not be mine? There are many things worse than being married to me; she might have married a man who beat her! DEAR MORRIS IT BEGAN WHY SHOULD I NOT HAVE WANTED MARIA YOU DID OTHERS DOUBTLESS DID WHY THEN SHOULD SHE NOT BE MINE THERE ARE MANY THINGS WORSE THAN BEING MARRIED TO ME SHE MIGHT HAVE MARRIED A MAN WHO BEAT HER
n I arrived, the landlady looked at me for a long moment, taking in my rough, dark-blue complexion, unpressed clothes, red-rimmed eyes, then wagged a finger playfully. "You are playing a joke, no? A wedding joke, maybe. Here, too, we haze newlyweds. But of course I understood. Who could help loving Miss Maria? Be of good heart, young man. For you there will be another, some day. But I talk too much. Here is your letter." I went where I would be undisturbed, to the reading room of the library on the same street as my flat. To the musty, oblong, dimly lit room whose threshold sunshine and fresh air dared not cross. Without the saving warmth of sunlight or the fresh, clean relief of sweet-smelling air, I read. Read, inhaling the pungent, sour smell of the Scotch I had consumed during the long, sleepless night. Read, and then doubted that I had read at all—but the blue ink on the white paper forced me to acknowledge its actuality. It had been written by Hunter, in a neat, scholar's script. THE LANDLADY HAD SEEN THEM THIS MORNING ALIVE WHEN I ARRIVED THE LANDLADY LOOKED AT ME FOR A LONG MOMENT TAKING IN MY ROUGH DARK BLUE COMPLEXION UNPRESSED CLOTHES RED RIMMED EYES THEN WAGGED FINGERS PLAYFULLY YOU ARE PLAYING A JOKE NO A BEDDING JOKE MAYBE HERE TOO WE HAZE NEWLY BEDS BUT OF COURSE I UNDERSTAND WHO COULD HELP LOVING MISS MARIA BE OF GOOD HEART YOUNG MAN FOR YOU THERE WILL BE ANOTHER SOME DAY BUT I TALK TOO MUCH HERE IS YOUR LETTER I WENT WHERE I WOULD BE UNDISTURBED TO THE READING ROOM OF THE LIBRARY ON THE SAME STREET AS MY FLAT TO THE MUSTY OBLONG DIMLY LIT ROOM WHOSE THRESHOLD SUNSHINE AND FRESH AIR DARED NOT CROSS WITHOUT THE SAVING WARMTH OF SUNLIGHT OR THE FRESH CLEAN RELIEF OF SWEET SMELLING AIR I READ READ INHALING THE PUNGENT SOUR SMELL OF THE SCOTCH I HAD CONSUMED DURING THE LONG SLEEPLESS NIGHT READ AND THEN DOUBTED I HAD READ IT ALL BUT THE BLUE INK ON THE WHITE PAPER FORCED ME TO ACKNOWLEDGE ITS ACTUALITY IT HAD BEEN WRITTEN BY HUNTER AND NEAT SCHOLAR SCRIPT
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