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Chapters (51)
  1. Introduction by Michael Bronski
  2. BEGINNING
  3. II
  4. III
  5. IV
  6. V
  7. VI
  8. VII
  9. VIII
  10. IX
  11. X
  12. XI
  13. XII
  14. XIII
  15. MIDDLE
  16. II
  17. III
  18. IV
  19. V
  20. VI
  21. VII
  22. VIII
  23. IX
  24. X
  25. XI
  26. XII
  27. XIII
  28. XIV
  29. XV
  30. XVI
  31. XVII
  32. XVIII
  33. XIX
  34. XX
  35. END
  36. II
  37. III
  38. IV
  39. V
  40. VI
  41. VII
  42. VIII
  43. IX
  44. X
  45. XI
  46. XII
  47. XIII
  48. XIV
  49. XV
  50. XVI
  51. About the Author

He opened his eyes. At first he could not see. Then he wiped the blood from his brow and face and eventually was able to believe in his surroundings. He could not trouble himself to wonder who was at the door; he was not even sure the buzzer had been ringing. From his position on the floor with his head just under the gate-­leg table, the room looked distorted and unfamiliar. Then he recognized his topcoat on the piano bench, the fire tongs lying on the carpet near him, and the books. At the same moment he saw a letter being slid under the door. Footsteps walked off along the hall and after a pause he heard the door of the cagelike elevator slam to, followed by a whining groan as the lift descended.

He did not try to get up from the floor. The effort was too much. He lay still and tried to collect his thoughts; and the memory of what had happened that noon came back to him. . . .

The yellow light streamed horizontally through the windows, so that John Grandin, on the floor, lay in a half-­dark, fully conscious, now, but with a violently throbbing head. He thought of the summer-­school class he had missed that day and would miss tomorrow. He thought of the fall semester, the new appointment, the students he would be expected to advise, and the publication of the work which had occupied him for so long. Bitterly he thought of the turn of events which had reduced him to a beaten man bleeding here on the floor. He had paid for an old flaw or error, paid twice over, far beyond his deserts; and in all justice, everything was as it should be. Luckily Ethel and the children had been spared the knowledge or the sight of this. But only for the time being. Like the students, they were certain to find out. It was a small world, the life of the university, and his family was even smaller. Disaster had struck him down, but it was nothing to the disaster of the uncertain future.

At length, because it was something to do and must be done, he raised himself on his hands and knees and crawled across the carpet toward the door and the letter showing underneath. It was minutes before he was able to slit the envelope and extract the letter, minutes before he could read it, minutes more till he had registered its contents. Involuntarily his head sank lower and lower to the floor; and his sole emotion was a passionate regret that Cliff had not finished the job.

About the Author

ABOUT THE AUTHOR