Clinton heard the side door of the house as it slammed shut. Echo removed her high heels and murmured aloud to herself. “Oh, God, make me behave, don’t let me be a fool!” Then she hurried to the stairs and followed Berry-berry.

Clinton stood up. He no longer cared whether or not his presence was known to them. He walked around to the front of the house and stood in the middle of the lawn. Berry-berry had jumped into his truck and started the motor. Clinton watched its rapid progress up the street. Then he saw Echo hurrying down the driveway in her stockinged feet, carrying her shoes. She ran down past the sidewalk and into the street.

The truck turned the corner and was out of sight. Echo remained standing in the street for a few seconds, apparently too confounded to move. Then, suddenly aware of herself, she looked at the high heels she carried and studied them as if she had forgotten what they were or how she came to have them in her hands. She looked up the street again, in the direction in which the truck had gone, and then she looked at the house; and then she saw her car. The big old Dodge seemed to be the only object that was familiar to her. She walked over to it, and reached out to touch its fender.

Clinton wanted to call out to her, go to her side. But he felt that in her bewilderment his sudden and unexpected presence would frighten her. As he tried to think of some way to avoid this danger, Echo started up the path to the house, and went inside. Clinton moved closer to the front steps so that he could watch her movements inside. She stood in the front hall for a moment, and then went into the living room, turned on the light, and sat at Annabel’s desk. Annabel’s stationery was in a box on the shelf. Echo took a sheet of paper and began to write. Then she stopped, put the paper in the wastebasket, and started over again. After a moment, she paused, read what she had written, and placed this second attempt in the wastebasket with the first. Then she turned out the lamp and hurried up the stairs to her room.

Clinton went inside and withdrew the crumpled papers from the basket. In the light of the hallway, he read them. The handwriting was so large and sprawling that the words “Dear Annabel” alone took up an entire line:

DEAR ANNABEL,

Mamma’s nurse just called me up and

The second note began:

DEAR ANNABEL,

I could not sleep and all of a sudden for no reason at all I got worried about Mamma and thought