. . for nothing! Kitty, whom he revered above
all women save one, his mother! . . . Sugar, coffee and spices. Rio
number seven, 7 1/2 to 13 1/2 cents. Leaks in the roasting
business. . . . Apologize? On his knees, if need be. Caught like a
rat in a trap; done for; at the end of his rope. Why hadn't he taken
to his heels when he had had the chance? Gone at once to New York and
sent for his belongings? . . . Sugar, coffee and spices. . . . The
pen slipped from his fingers, and he laid his head on his arms.
Monumental ass!
Up suddenly, alert eyed. There was a telephone-booth in the hall.
This he sought noiselessly. He remained hidden in the booth for as
long as twenty minutes. Then he emerged, wiping the perspiration from
his forehead. For the time being he was saved. But he was very
miserable.
Sugar, coffee and spices again. Doggedly he recommenced the
transcription, adding, deducting, comparing. He heard a slight noise
by the portiere, and raised his eyes. Kitty stood there like a picture
in a frame; pale, calm of eye.
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