"If my own mother were killed in the
street," she told herself, trying to blink back the tears, "I suppose
they'd make _me_ handle it because I know more about her than any one
else in the office!"
Resentment grew with the turning of each sentence. They knew that Karl
was her cousin, and almost as close to her as her own brother. She was
sure they had seen the tear stains on some of that maudlin copy she had
handed in about him. When she turned in her story she was unable to
contain herself longer.
"Mr. Lewis," she said, voice quivering, "here is another one of those
outrageous stories about my cousin, Dr. Hubers. When you ask me to write
the next one, you may consider it an invitation for my resignation." And
then, cheeks very red, she went back to her desk and began getting up
some stuff for her column "Just Dogs," which they had been running on the
editorial page.
When the city editor was passing her desk about half an hour later he
stopped and asked, very respectfully and meekly--Georgia was far too
good to lose: "Miss McCormick, will you see Dr.
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