The telephone stopped ringing just as I picked them up.
Now whoever it was would call the cops. Maybe
somebody already had. I was sweating, and my hands
shook. She hadn’t stirred. I juggled the keys frantically in
my hand and slid out from under the bed. The first one was
right. The handcuffs clicked open and I came erect, lunging
toward her. She lay on her back behind the footboard of the
bed, her eyes closed and one arm stretched out beyond her
head. Her face was dead white and the long lashes made
shadows on her cheek. I fell to the floor beside her and
grabbed her bare shoulder, shaking it furiously. There was
no response.
I sprang up and ran through the hallway to the bath.
October 23, 2010
The Big Bite by Charles Williams(8)
He stepped back, took out a handkerchief, and wiped the
sweat from his face. He’d been under a strain too, in spite
of the calm way he looked outside. Suddenly he caught her
in his arms. “Julia—!”
She broke it up after the first wild clinch. “Please, Dan.
Not in front of this vermin.”
He turned his face and looked at me for an instant, his
eyes savage. They went out and closed the door. It was an
act out there at the cabin, I thought, but it wasn’t quite all
an act.
They didn’t come back; there was dead silence in the
house. They were probably in her bedroom. I thought about
it, trying to keep from getting panicky. It couldn’t happen,
not here in the quiet upper-middle-class residential district
The Big Bite — 147
of a small town where a dented fender in the Cadillac was a
big deal. Next door they’d be playing bridge; up the street
they were watching television or waiting for a daughter to
get home from a date. Murder? Here? That was a pipe
dream. Murder never happened in a place like this.
sweat from his face. He’d been under a strain too, in spite
of the calm way he looked outside. Suddenly he caught her
in his arms. “Julia—!”
She broke it up after the first wild clinch. “Please, Dan.
Not in front of this vermin.”
He turned his face and looked at me for an instant, his
eyes savage. They went out and closed the door. It was an
act out there at the cabin, I thought, but it wasn’t quite all
an act.
They didn’t come back; there was dead silence in the
house. They were probably in her bedroom. I thought about
it, trying to keep from getting panicky. It couldn’t happen,
not here in the quiet upper-middle-class residential district
The Big Bite — 147
of a small town where a dented fender in the Cadillac was a
big deal. Next door they’d be playing bridge; up the street
they were watching television or waiting for a daughter to
get home from a date. Murder? Here? That was a pipe
dream. Murder never happened in a place like this.
The Big Bite by Charles Williams(7)
“Yes,” I said. “What is it?”
“You brute,” she protested above the noise of the shower,
“you’re not even listening to me. I said, aren’t we having a
good time?”
“Sure, sure,” I said. “A wonderful time.”
She went on chattering. I reached out for the telephone,
lifting it carefully off the cradle. When the operator
answered, I said quietly, “I want to make another longdistance
call.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied. “Just one moment.”
The yakking went on from the shower. It paused
momentarily on a questioning note.
“Sure, sure,” I answered, holding my hand over the
mouthpiece.
“Well, that’s better. I think you’re sweet, too.”
“Aren’t we both,” I said. That’ll hold you for a minute, you
sweet, deadly bitch. It did. She started humming in the
shower.
“You brute,” she protested above the noise of the shower,
“you’re not even listening to me. I said, aren’t we having a
good time?”
“Sure, sure,” I said. “A wonderful time.”
She went on chattering. I reached out for the telephone,
lifting it carefully off the cradle. When the operator
answered, I said quietly, “I want to make another longdistance
call.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied. “Just one moment.”
The yakking went on from the shower. It paused
momentarily on a questioning note.
“Sure, sure,” I answered, holding my hand over the
mouthpiece.
“Well, that’s better. I think you’re sweet, too.”
“Aren’t we both,” I said. That’ll hold you for a minute, you
sweet, deadly bitch. It did. She started humming in the
shower.
The Big Bite by Charles Williams(6)
“Just a few minutes.”
I couldn’t see anyone else, either here on the pier or up by
her car in front of the cabin. “Where’s the moose?”
“Moose?”
“Tallant.”
“I don’t know,” she said.
It was late afternoon, and shadows were reaching out
across the clearing. She wore a dark pleated skirt and a
soft, white, long-sleeved blouse with French cuffs. I turned
my head slightly and completed the survey. She had on
nylons in that area, and sling pumps.
“Nice,” I said.
She made no reply.
“Don’t mind me,” I said. “I always wake up this way.”
She was carrying a pack of cigarettes in her hand, and a
paper book of matches, because women never have pockets
in anything. She fumbled with them now, lighting one.
I reached up a hand for it. “Thanks,” I said. She lit
another for herself.
The Big Bite — 105
“Quite neat,” she said. “An entire philosophy in one
gesture.”
I propped myself on an elbow. “Don’t be an egghead,
honey. You’re stac
I couldn’t see anyone else, either here on the pier or up by
her car in front of the cabin. “Where’s the moose?”
“Moose?”
“Tallant.”
“I don’t know,” she said.
It was late afternoon, and shadows were reaching out
across the clearing. She wore a dark pleated skirt and a
soft, white, long-sleeved blouse with French cuffs. I turned
my head slightly and completed the survey. She had on
nylons in that area, and sling pumps.
“Nice,” I said.
She made no reply.
“Don’t mind me,” I said. “I always wake up this way.”
She was carrying a pack of cigarettes in her hand, and a
paper book of matches, because women never have pockets
in anything. She fumbled with them now, lighting one.
I reached up a hand for it. “Thanks,” I said. She lit
another for herself.
The Big Bite — 105
“Quite neat,” she said. “An entire philosophy in one
gesture.”
I propped myself on an elbow. “Don’t be an egghead,
honey. You’re stac
The Big Bite by Charles Williams(5)
“Never mind,” I said. “You’ve already answered your own
question. Come on in and sit down. I’ve got something I
want you to read.”
I stepped aside and let them come through the doorway. I
was careful not to let him get too near, and he was just as
careful not to turn his back, though it was all too well
covered to be obvious. Nobody said anything for a moment,
but tension was like smoke in the room.
I’d left the letter on the coffee table intentionally. He’d
have to go there to pick it up, so the logical place to sit
down would be the handiest—the sofa or one of the chairs
facing it. I nodded in that direction. “Mrs. Cannon’s already
read the good news,” I said. “I think she missed one angle
of it, but you’ll probably catch on. If you’ll notice, it’s a
carbon copy.”
“Say, what the hell is this?” he asked roughly. “Who are
you? And what do you want?”
I waved a hand. “The letter, Tallant. Why don’t you just
pick it up and read it? It’ll explain everything.”
The Big Bite — 84
question. Come on in and sit down. I’ve got something I
want you to read.”
I stepped aside and let them come through the doorway. I
was careful not to let him get too near, and he was just as
careful not to turn his back, though it was all too well
covered to be obvious. Nobody said anything for a moment,
but tension was like smoke in the room.
I’d left the letter on the coffee table intentionally. He’d
have to go there to pick it up, so the logical place to sit
down would be the handiest—the sofa or one of the chairs
facing it. I nodded in that direction. “Mrs. Cannon’s already
read the good news,” I said. “I think she missed one angle
of it, but you’ll probably catch on. If you’ll notice, it’s a
carbon copy.”
“Say, what the hell is this?” he asked roughly. “Who are
you? And what do you want?”
I waved a hand. “The letter, Tallant. Why don’t you just
pick it up and read it? It’ll explain everything.”
The Big Bite — 84
The Big Bite by Charles Williams(4)
”Are you going to be here very long, Mr. Harlan?” ‘she
asked. “Two weeks,” I replied. “Maybe a little less.”
“And you’re out at that same cabin where you were
before?”
“I will be,” I said. “Right now I’m at the Enders Hotel. The
friend of mine that owns the shack is mailing me a key. It’ll
probably be here today.”
“Well, I do hope I’ll see you again while you’re here,” she
said.
The Big Bite — 61
I stood up on cue. “It’s been nice meeting you,” I said
earnestly. “I probably won’t come to town much, but if
you’re out that way drop in and go fishing with me. Heh,
heh.”
She smiled, the way you would at a meat-head who wasn’t
too bright, and came to the door with me. She held out her
hand very graciously. I took it. The brown eyes looked up at
me from about the level of my shoulder. Brother! I thought.
I simpered like a clown and said good-by three times,
standing on one foot; then the other, gave her another poorbut-
honest pitch about how nice it was of her to let me call,
and finally backed out the door like a high school kid
escaping from the stage after winning a scholarship in the
essay contest. She’d call Tallant all right the minute the
door was closed, but they’d just have a good laugh. was
utterly harmless.
asked. “Two weeks,” I replied. “Maybe a little less.”
“And you’re out at that same cabin where you were
before?”
“I will be,” I said. “Right now I’m at the Enders Hotel. The
friend of mine that owns the shack is mailing me a key. It’ll
probably be here today.”
“Well, I do hope I’ll see you again while you’re here,” she
said.
The Big Bite — 61
I stood up on cue. “It’s been nice meeting you,” I said
earnestly. “I probably won’t come to town much, but if
you’re out that way drop in and go fishing with me. Heh,
heh.”
She smiled, the way you would at a meat-head who wasn’t
too bright, and came to the door with me. She held out her
hand very graciously. I took it. The brown eyes looked up at
me from about the level of my shoulder. Brother! I thought.
I simpered like a clown and said good-by three times,
standing on one foot; then the other, gave her another poorbut-
honest pitch about how nice it was of her to let me call,
and finally backed out the door like a high school kid
escaping from the stage after winning a scholarship in the
essay contest. She’d call Tallant all right the minute the
door was closed, but they’d just have a good laugh. was
utterly harmless.
The Big Bite by Charles Williams(3)
‘’Private Investigator Slain,” the second page story led off.
“The body of Winton L. Purvis, 38, private detective and
former insurance investigator, was discovered early this
afternoon in his apartment at 10325 Can line Street. He
was apparently struck on the head with terrific force by
some heavy object, though no trace of the murder weapon
was found at the scene. Police are as yet without clue as to
the identity of the assailant, but are convinced he is a large
man of great physical strength.”
There wasn’t much more. Apparently it had broken just in
time to get the bare essential facts in the last edition;
there’d be more tomorrow. But there was enough here to
start it rolling—the address and the fact they were looking
for a big man. I hoped that cabby wasn’t sitting behind his
wheel somewhere in the city as I was, leafing through the
paper.
Well, the ball had to bounce—one way or the other. But I
couldn’t sit here and waste time. I switched on the ignition
and rolled out into the river of traffic. Mrs. Cannon, here I
come.
The Big Bite — 41
5
Wayles . . .
“The body of Winton L. Purvis, 38, private detective and
former insurance investigator, was discovered early this
afternoon in his apartment at 10325 Can line Street. He
was apparently struck on the head with terrific force by
some heavy object, though no trace of the murder weapon
was found at the scene. Police are as yet without clue as to
the identity of the assailant, but are convinced he is a large
man of great physical strength.”
There wasn’t much more. Apparently it had broken just in
time to get the bare essential facts in the last edition;
there’d be more tomorrow. But there was enough here to
start it rolling—the address and the fact they were looking
for a big man. I hoped that cabby wasn’t sitting behind his
wheel somewhere in the city as I was, leafing through the
paper.
Well, the ball had to bounce—one way or the other. But I
couldn’t sit here and waste time. I switched on the ignition
and rolled out into the river of traffic. Mrs. Cannon, here I
come.
The Big Bite — 41
5
Wayles . . .
The Big Bite by Charles Williams(2)
It was a walk-up. I went up two steps at a time, meeting
no one in the halls or on the stairs, but hearing snatches of
what sounded like the same television program on all three
floors. Number 303 was the first one on the right at the
The Big Bite — 22
head of the stairs. I touched the bell and Purvis opened the
door almost immediately. He nodded, but said nothing until
I had come inside and the door was closed.
It was a small living-room. Directly across from the door
was a window which presumably looked out on the street,
but the blind was drawn all the way down. At the left was an
open door going into the bedroom, while on the right, just
opposite it, another opened into a small dinette. The livingroom
was fitted with the usual landlord-tan wallpaper and
the beat-up odds and ends of shabby furniture that would
come with a furnished deadfall in this neighborhood, so
dreary and like a thousand others that Purvis’s things stood
out and hit you right in the eye the moment you walked in.
There were five or six framed copies of paintings of girls in
ballet costumes, the same pictures you sometimes see in the
anterooms of doctors’ offices. Some arty, horse-faced girl I
got stuck with once at a party told me who the painter was
that did them, but I couldn’t remember now. Dago was all I
could think of, but that wasn’t it. There were some more
pictures in one big frame over a desk at the right, beside
the doorway going into the dinette, but these were
photographs. They were all signed, and they were, all of
ballet dancers. There must have been a dozen of them. An
aficionado, I thought, remembering that way he had of
describing things with his hands and what he had said
no one in the halls or on the stairs, but hearing snatches of
what sounded like the same television program on all three
floors. Number 303 was the first one on the right at the
The Big Bite — 22
head of the stairs. I touched the bell and Purvis opened the
door almost immediately. He nodded, but said nothing until
I had come inside and the door was closed.
It was a small living-room. Directly across from the door
was a window which presumably looked out on the street,
but the blind was drawn all the way down. At the left was an
open door going into the bedroom, while on the right, just
opposite it, another opened into a small dinette. The livingroom
was fitted with the usual landlord-tan wallpaper and
the beat-up odds and ends of shabby furniture that would
come with a furnished deadfall in this neighborhood, so
dreary and like a thousand others that Purvis’s things stood
out and hit you right in the eye the moment you walked in.
There were five or six framed copies of paintings of girls in
ballet costumes, the same pictures you sometimes see in the
anterooms of doctors’ offices. Some arty, horse-faced girl I
got stuck with once at a party told me who the painter was
that did them, but I couldn’t remember now. Dago was all I
could think of, but that wasn’t it. There were some more
pictures in one big frame over a desk at the right, beside
the doorway going into the dinette, but these were
photographs. They were all signed, and they were, all of
ballet dancers. There must have been a dozen of them. An
aficionado, I thought, remembering that way he had of
describing things with his hands and what he had said
The Big Bite by Charles Williams(1)
1
They said it was going to be as good as ever, but it wasn’t.
You could see that by the end of the first week of practice.
They’d stuck it back on, all right, and it looked like a leg,
but something was gone. McGilvray, who’s probably the
best T-formation quarterback that ever lived, was handing
the ball off a half stride ahead of me. We’d played together
two years in college and five in the pros, so he knew where I
was supposed to be. I did too, but I wasn’t getting there.
About the tenth time they unpiled the beef off us after the
fumble he spat out some topsoil and said, “We’re just a little
rusty yet, Harlan. Maybe I’m leading you too much.”
“It could be, dear,” I said. I knew better.
The next time he handed the ball off to me where I was,
instead of where I was supposed to be, and two rookies
smeared me back of the line. Not the Cleveland Browns;
just rookies trying out. It went on that way. When they ran
off the pictures looking for the missed blocking
They said it was going to be as good as ever, but it wasn’t.
You could see that by the end of the first week of practice.
They’d stuck it back on, all right, and it looked like a leg,
but something was gone. McGilvray, who’s probably the
best T-formation quarterback that ever lived, was handing
the ball off a half stride ahead of me. We’d played together
two years in college and five in the pros, so he knew where I
was supposed to be. I did too, but I wasn’t getting there.
About the tenth time they unpiled the beef off us after the
fumble he spat out some topsoil and said, “We’re just a little
rusty yet, Harlan. Maybe I’m leading you too much.”
“It could be, dear,” I said. I knew better.
The next time he handed the ball off to me where I was,
instead of where I was supposed to be, and two rookies
smeared me back of the line. Not the Cleveland Browns;
just rookies trying out. It went on that way. When they ran
off the pictures looking for the missed blocking
October 21, 2010
Talk of The Town by Charles Williams(1)
1
It wasn't a very large town. The highway came into it from
the west across a bridge spanning a slow-moving and muddy
river with an unpronounceable Indian name, and then ran
straight through the central business district for four or five
blocks down a wide street with angle parking and four
traffic lights at successive intersections. I was just pulling
away from the last light, going about twenty miles per hour
in the right-hand lane, when some local in a beat-up old
panel truck decided to come shooting backwards out of his
parking place without looking behind him.
There was another car on my left, so all I could do was to
slam on my brakes just before I plowed into him. There was
a crash of metal followed by a succession of tinkling sounds
as fragments of grill-work and shards of glass rained onto
the pavement. Necks craned up and down the sun-blasted
street.
I locked the handbrake and got out, and shook my head
with disgust as I sized up the damage. The front bumper was
knocked loose at one end, and the right fender and smashed
headlight were crumpled in on the wheel. But the worst of it
was the spout of hot water streaming out through the
wreckage of the grill.
It wasn't a very large town. The highway came into it from
the west across a bridge spanning a slow-moving and muddy
river with an unpronounceable Indian name, and then ran
straight through the central business district for four or five
blocks down a wide street with angle parking and four
traffic lights at successive intersections. I was just pulling
away from the last light, going about twenty miles per hour
in the right-hand lane, when some local in a beat-up old
panel truck decided to come shooting backwards out of his
parking place without looking behind him.
There was another car on my left, so all I could do was to
slam on my brakes just before I plowed into him. There was
a crash of metal followed by a succession of tinkling sounds
as fragments of grill-work and shards of glass rained onto
the pavement. Necks craned up and down the sun-blasted
street.
I locked the handbrake and got out, and shook my head
with disgust as I sized up the damage. The front bumper was
knocked loose at one end, and the right fender and smashed
headlight were crumpled in on the wheel. But the worst of it
was the spout of hot water streaming out through the
wreckage of the grill.
Talk of The Town by Charles Williams(10)
“Listen, Frankie,” she said hurriedly. “Pearl just called
from town, and he’s on his way out here now. He said he
tried to get you, but you didn’t answer—”
“He hung up before I could get to the phone,” Frankie
grumbled. “What is it?”
I don’t know, except something’s gone wrong. All he said
was he was leaving right then and for me to call you and
keep calling till I got you, if I had to try every place in town.
Don’t tell anybody, not even your wife, but just get out here
as fast as you can.”
“I’ll be right there,” Frankie said. He hung up.
I replaced the instrument and looked at my watch. It was
12:47. We were cutting it dangerously fine. She’d said Pearl
sometimes came home as early as one. It would take Frankie
a couple of minutes to dress, and then Calhoun would wait
two or three more. It was very still in the room. I was hot in
the flannel jacket. Sweat ran down my face. My hands were
so stiff now I could hardly close them.
“How long have you been living with Pearl?” I asked
Trudy.
“Three or four months,” she said defiantly. Then she
started to whine again. “I didn’t have nothin’ to do with
anything. I came here from Tampa.”
“When did T.J. show up?”
“About the same time. He was in a cuttin’ scrape up in
Georgia.”
from town, and he’s on his way out here now. He said he
tried to get you, but you didn’t answer—”
“He hung up before I could get to the phone,” Frankie
grumbled. “What is it?”
I don’t know, except something’s gone wrong. All he said
was he was leaving right then and for me to call you and
keep calling till I got you, if I had to try every place in town.
Don’t tell anybody, not even your wife, but just get out here
as fast as you can.”
“I’ll be right there,” Frankie said. He hung up.
I replaced the instrument and looked at my watch. It was
12:47. We were cutting it dangerously fine. She’d said Pearl
sometimes came home as early as one. It would take Frankie
a couple of minutes to dress, and then Calhoun would wait
two or three more. It was very still in the room. I was hot in
the flannel jacket. Sweat ran down my face. My hands were
so stiff now I could hardly close them.
“How long have you been living with Pearl?” I asked
Trudy.
“Three or four months,” she said defiantly. Then she
started to whine again. “I didn’t have nothin’ to do with
anything. I came here from Tampa.”
“When did T.J. show up?”
“About the same time. He was in a cuttin’ scrape up in
Georgia.”
Talk of The Town by Charles Williams(9)
“Well, I’ll see you,” I said, and started to turn away.
“Anything I can do for you?” he asked. “Run you in to a
doc if you haven’t got a car.”
”I’m all right, thanks. I’ve just got to find Mrs. Langston.”
And get out of sight within the next five or ten minutes, I
thought, if I wanted to see tomorrow’s sunrise. I went out
the door, and looked across the road. Her station wagon was
parked in front of the office. Nothing surprised me any
more. I broke into a run, and was almost hit by a car. The
driver called me something unprintable and sped on. I ran
into the lobby and could hear her moving around in the
living-room. She turned as I shoved through the curtains.
She was still dressed exactly as she had been at dinner, and
Talk of The Town— 172
as far as I could see she was unharmed. She looked at my
face and gasped, and then, is if we’d been rehearsing it for a
week, she was in my arms.
“I’ve been so worried,” she said. “I’ve been looking
everywhere for you. Bill, what happened?”
“No time now,” I said. “We’ve got to get out of here. Fast.”
She grasped the urgency in my voice and asked no
questions. Running into the bedroom, she came out with her
purse and a pair of flat shoes. We hurried out. She locked
the front door. It occurred to me the back one was probably
broken open, but it didn’t seem very important.
“Anything I can do for you?” he asked. “Run you in to a
doc if you haven’t got a car.”
”I’m all right, thanks. I’ve just got to find Mrs. Langston.”
And get out of sight within the next five or ten minutes, I
thought, if I wanted to see tomorrow’s sunrise. I went out
the door, and looked across the road. Her station wagon was
parked in front of the office. Nothing surprised me any
more. I broke into a run, and was almost hit by a car. The
driver called me something unprintable and sped on. I ran
into the lobby and could hear her moving around in the
living-room. She turned as I shoved through the curtains.
She was still dressed exactly as she had been at dinner, and
Talk of The Town— 172
as far as I could see she was unharmed. She looked at my
face and gasped, and then, is if we’d been rehearsing it for a
week, she was in my arms.
“I’ve been so worried,” she said. “I’ve been looking
everywhere for you. Bill, what happened?”
“No time now,” I said. “We’ve got to get out of here. Fast.”
She grasped the urgency in my voice and asked no
questions. Running into the bedroom, she came out with her
purse and a pair of flat shoes. We hurried out. She locked
the front door. It occurred to me the back one was probably
broken open, but it didn’t seem very important.
Talk of The Town by Charles Williams(8)
Studying him now at close range, I decided he’d probably
also fooled about as many people who had thought he was
stupid as had thought he was fat. He was a hick, a townclown,
if you weren’t careful where you looked. He wore a
farmer’s straw hat, suede shoes, and the pair of wide braces
holding up the khaki trousers could have been props in a
vaudeville skit. The eyes under the shaggy brows, however,
were a piercing and frosty blue.
We sat down. He leaned back in the leather chair with his
beer. “So you came back to look for him?” he asked “I heard
him make the crack.”
I got out a cigarette and fumbled with the lighter. “He
wasn’t the one I was looking for,” I replied. “But while we’re
on the subject, I saw you give the two of ‘em the roust. How
come?
“Why not?” he asked. “That’s what they pay me for.”
Talk of The Town— 153
“But you think she’s guilty yourself.”
“If I do, I keep my mouth shut. And women don’t get
jockeyed around on the streets of this town while I’m
patrolling it.”
“They could use you in the Sheriff’s office,” I said.
“They’ve got a good man in the Sheriff’s office,” he
replied. “He’s a friend of mine.”
also fooled about as many people who had thought he was
stupid as had thought he was fat. He was a hick, a townclown,
if you weren’t careful where you looked. He wore a
farmer’s straw hat, suede shoes, and the pair of wide braces
holding up the khaki trousers could have been props in a
vaudeville skit. The eyes under the shaggy brows, however,
were a piercing and frosty blue.
We sat down. He leaned back in the leather chair with his
beer. “So you came back to look for him?” he asked “I heard
him make the crack.”
I got out a cigarette and fumbled with the lighter. “He
wasn’t the one I was looking for,” I replied. “But while we’re
on the subject, I saw you give the two of ‘em the roust. How
come?
“Why not?” he asked. “That’s what they pay me for.”
Talk of The Town— 153
“But you think she’s guilty yourself.”
“If I do, I keep my mouth shut. And women don’t get
jockeyed around on the streets of this town while I’m
patrolling it.”
“They could use you in the Sheriff’s office,” I said.
“They’ve got a good man in the Sheriff’s office,” he
replied. “He’s a friend of mine.”
Talk of The Town by Charles Williams(7)
“You have,” I said. So she’d left here in February, and
started teaching in Galicia in September. Where was she
and what was she doing for six months?
“I suppose there was some insurance?” I asked.
“Not very much, I’m afraid.” She smiled gently. “Teachers
don’t make a great deal, you know. It seems to me there was
a policy for about five thousand.”
Ten, with a double indemnity clause, I thought. “Would
there be anybody else in town who might know where she
went?” I asked. “Any of his family, perhaps?”
“No,” she said. “He came from Orlando. There are some
Spragues here, but no kin.”
She finished her coffee. I thanked her, and walked back to
the office with her. Apparently I was up against a dead end
now. There was nothing in any of this to link her with
Strader, and I had no lead at all on where she could have
spent that six months. I was in the station wagon and just
turning on the ignition when it hit me. How fat-headed could
you get? I reached for my wallet and snatched out the sheet
of paper on which I’d scribbled the dope Lane had given me.
The dates jibed, all right. Eager now, and very excited, I
strode back into the drugstore and headed for the phone
booth.
I couldn’t pull it on her, because she’d recognize my voice.
But I could start with her. I dialed the business office of the
phone company and asked for Ellen Beasley.
“This is that quiz man again,” I said. “If you’ll answer just
one more for me I’ll quit bothering you.”
started teaching in Galicia in September. Where was she
and what was she doing for six months?
“I suppose there was some insurance?” I asked.
“Not very much, I’m afraid.” She smiled gently. “Teachers
don’t make a great deal, you know. It seems to me there was
a policy for about five thousand.”
Ten, with a double indemnity clause, I thought. “Would
there be anybody else in town who might know where she
went?” I asked. “Any of his family, perhaps?”
“No,” she said. “He came from Orlando. There are some
Spragues here, but no kin.”
She finished her coffee. I thanked her, and walked back to
the office with her. Apparently I was up against a dead end
now. There was nothing in any of this to link her with
Strader, and I had no lead at all on where she could have
spent that six months. I was in the station wagon and just
turning on the ignition when it hit me. How fat-headed could
you get? I reached for my wallet and snatched out the sheet
of paper on which I’d scribbled the dope Lane had given me.
The dates jibed, all right. Eager now, and very excited, I
strode back into the drugstore and headed for the phone
booth.
I couldn’t pull it on her, because she’d recognize my voice.
But I could start with her. I dialed the business office of the
phone company and asked for Ellen Beasley.
“This is that quiz man again,” I said. “If you’ll answer just
one more for me I’ll quit bothering you.”
Talk of The Town by Charles Williams(6)
Assume it was one of the four. Which one? Dunleavy
worked in a filling station just up the road. He would have
been able to see me when I ran over there. Ollie was already
there, naturally. Pearl Talley had come in just after me. That
left only Rupe unaccounted for. Did that make him more or
less likely than the others? He could have been watching
from anywhere around, and remained out of sight.
Wouldn’t that be the natural thing to do, rather than
walking in openly, as Talley had done? Sure, I thought,
except for one thing. As far as my reasoning it out
Talk of The Town— 111
afterwards was concerned, the way they saw it, there was
no sweat at all. Afterwards I was going to be dead.
So it could have been Talley just as well as any of the
others. No, I thought. Not with that mush-mouthed, Georgiaboy
accent of his. Whoever the man was, I’d heard him twice
on the telephone, and while he’d been whispering once and
speaking very softly the other time, some of that houn’-dawg
dialect would have come through if it’d been Talley. That left
three of them.
So now I had two very tenuous threads to follow, both due
to the fact they’d underestimated my life expectancy. They’d
know I had them, and they wouldn’t make the same mistake
again. It was a long time before I got to sleep.
* * *
worked in a filling station just up the road. He would have
been able to see me when I ran over there. Ollie was already
there, naturally. Pearl Talley had come in just after me. That
left only Rupe unaccounted for. Did that make him more or
less likely than the others? He could have been watching
from anywhere around, and remained out of sight.
Wouldn’t that be the natural thing to do, rather than
walking in openly, as Talley had done? Sure, I thought,
except for one thing. As far as my reasoning it out
Talk of The Town— 111
afterwards was concerned, the way they saw it, there was
no sweat at all. Afterwards I was going to be dead.
So it could have been Talley just as well as any of the
others. No, I thought. Not with that mush-mouthed, Georgiaboy
accent of his. Whoever the man was, I’d heard him twice
on the telephone, and while he’d been whispering once and
speaking very softly the other time, some of that houn’-dawg
dialect would have come through if it’d been Talley. That left
three of them.
So now I had two very tenuous threads to follow, both due
to the fact they’d underestimated my life expectancy. They’d
know I had them, and they wouldn’t make the same mistake
again. It was a long time before I got to sleep.
* * *
Talk of The Town by Charles Williams(5)
“Ridiculous,” she said. “I’m as healthy as a horse.”
“Sure you are. A horse that hasn’t had a square meal in a
month, or a full night’s rest since last year. You’re going to
stay right where you are and let me handle it.”
“But—”
“No buts. Ever since I landed in this town I’ve been
jockeyed around by some character who thinks I’m on your
side. He’s finally convinced me he’s right.”
The telephone rang out in the office. Josie appeared in the
doorway. “It’s for you,” she said. “A long distance.”
Talk of The Town— 91
8
I went out and took it at the desk. I told the operator we’d
accept the charges, and Lane came on. “Mr. Chatham?”
“Yes. How did you make out?”
“Fairly well. Here’s what I’ve been able to round up since
you called; so far it’s mostly just the stuff anybody would
know who followed the investigation last November.
“Sure you are. A horse that hasn’t had a square meal in a
month, or a full night’s rest since last year. You’re going to
stay right where you are and let me handle it.”
“But—”
“No buts. Ever since I landed in this town I’ve been
jockeyed around by some character who thinks I’m on your
side. He’s finally convinced me he’s right.”
The telephone rang out in the office. Josie appeared in the
doorway. “It’s for you,” she said. “A long distance.”
Talk of The Town— 91
8
I went out and took it at the desk. I told the operator we’d
accept the charges, and Lane came on. “Mr. Chatham?”
“Yes. How did you make out?”
“Fairly well. Here’s what I’ve been able to round up since
you called; so far it’s mostly just the stuff anybody would
know who followed the investigation last November.
Talk of The Town by Charles Williams(4)
He nodded. “That’s right. Maybe a kind of home-town
hero, in a way. A local boy that made good down there in
that big-wheeling-and-dealing crowd in south Florida, or at
least showed ‘em we could hold our own with ’em. We were
always a little proud of him. He played some mighty good
football at Georgia Tech. He was officer of a submarine that
sank I don’t remember how many thousand tons of Japanese
shipping in World War Two. After the war he went into the
construction business in Miami—low-cost housing. Made a
lot of money. They say he was worth pretty close to a million
at one time. But the thing was he never seemed to lose
touch like so many kids do when they go away and get
successful. Even after his daddy died—he used to be
principal of the high school—after he died and there weren’t
any Langstons left around here at all, he used to come back
and go duck-hunting and fishing and visit with people.”
“But what happened?” I asked. “Why did he retire and buy
a motel? He was only forty-seven, wasn’t he?”
“That’s right. He got hit by several things all at once.
There was a bad divorce, with a big property settlement—”
“Oh,” I said. “Then how long had he and the second Mrs.
Langston been married when he was killed?”
Talk of The Town— 69
“A little less than a year, I guess. Four or five months
before they came up here and bought the motel.”
“What were the other things?” I asked.
hero, in a way. A local boy that made good down there in
that big-wheeling-and-dealing crowd in south Florida, or at
least showed ‘em we could hold our own with ’em. We were
always a little proud of him. He played some mighty good
football at Georgia Tech. He was officer of a submarine that
sank I don’t remember how many thousand tons of Japanese
shipping in World War Two. After the war he went into the
construction business in Miami—low-cost housing. Made a
lot of money. They say he was worth pretty close to a million
at one time. But the thing was he never seemed to lose
touch like so many kids do when they go away and get
successful. Even after his daddy died—he used to be
principal of the high school—after he died and there weren’t
any Langstons left around here at all, he used to come back
and go duck-hunting and fishing and visit with people.”
“But what happened?” I asked. “Why did he retire and buy
a motel? He was only forty-seven, wasn’t he?”
“That’s right. He got hit by several things all at once.
There was a bad divorce, with a big property settlement—”
“Oh,” I said. “Then how long had he and the second Mrs.
Langston been married when he was killed?”
Talk of The Town— 69
“A little less than a year, I guess. Four or five months
before they came up here and bought the motel.”
“What were the other things?” I asked.
Talk of The Town by Charles Williams(3)
You asked for a cop and they sent you a comic-opera
clown like this. I choked down a sarcastic remark that
wouldn’t have helped the situation a great deal, and was just
about to ask him where he wanted to start when he
shrugged and said, “Well, that’s about it, huh?” He turned
and went out.
I stared at his back in disbelief, but followed him. I caught
up with him on the porch. “What do you mean, that’s it?”
He favored me with an indifferent glance and hitched up
his gunbelt again. “I’ve seen it, haven’t I? I’ll make a report
on it, but we haven’t got much to go on.”
“How about checking this place for prints?” I asked. “Or
don’t you want to? And how about the registration card he
made out? And if you thought it wouldn’t bore you too much,
I can give you a description of him. And the car. Any of that
interest you? And what about those jugs in there?”
“Well, what about the jugs? They had acid in ‘em. So I
know that already.”
clown like this. I choked down a sarcastic remark that
wouldn’t have helped the situation a great deal, and was just
about to ask him where he wanted to start when he
shrugged and said, “Well, that’s about it, huh?” He turned
and went out.
I stared at his back in disbelief, but followed him. I caught
up with him on the porch. “What do you mean, that’s it?”
He favored me with an indifferent glance and hitched up
his gunbelt again. “I’ve seen it, haven’t I? I’ll make a report
on it, but we haven’t got much to go on.”
“How about checking this place for prints?” I asked. “Or
don’t you want to? And how about the registration card he
made out? And if you thought it wouldn’t bore you too much,
I can give you a description of him. And the car. Any of that
interest you? And what about those jugs in there?”
“Well, what about the jugs? They had acid in ‘em. So I
know that already.”
Talk of The Town by Charles Williams(2)
Talk of The Town— 24
“You seem to be pretty interested, for it to be none of your
put-in.”
“I’m just studying the native customs,” I said. “Where I
grew up, people accused of murder were tried in court, not
in barrooms.”
“You’re new around here?”
“I’m even luckier than that,” I said. “I’m just passing
through.”
“How come you’re riding a taxi? Just to pump Jake?”
I was suddenly fed up with him. “Shove it,” I said.
His eyes filled with quick malice and he made as if to get
off the stool. The bartender glanced at him and he settled
back. His friend, a much bigger man, studied me with dislike
in his eyes, apparently trying to make up his mind whether
to buy a piece of it or not. Nothing happened, and in a
moment it was past.
I fished a dime from my pocket and went back to the
telephone. The dark girl and the man in the cowboy hat had
apparently been paying little attention to us. The girl
glanced up now as I went past. I had an impression she was
scarcely eighteen, but she looked as if she’d spent twice that
long in a furious and dedicated flight from any form of
innocence. Her left leg was stretched out under the edge of
the table with her skirt hiked up, and the man was grinning
slyly as he wrote something on her naked thigh with her
lipstick. She met my eyes and shrugged.
“You seem to be pretty interested, for it to be none of your
put-in.”
“I’m just studying the native customs,” I said. “Where I
grew up, people accused of murder were tried in court, not
in barrooms.”
“You’re new around here?”
“I’m even luckier than that,” I said. “I’m just passing
through.”
“How come you’re riding a taxi? Just to pump Jake?”
I was suddenly fed up with him. “Shove it,” I said.
His eyes filled with quick malice and he made as if to get
off the stool. The bartender glanced at him and he settled
back. His friend, a much bigger man, studied me with dislike
in his eyes, apparently trying to make up his mind whether
to buy a piece of it or not. Nothing happened, and in a
moment it was past.
I fished a dime from my pocket and went back to the
telephone. The dark girl and the man in the cowboy hat had
apparently been paying little attention to us. The girl
glanced up now as I went past. I had an impression she was
scarcely eighteen, but she looked as if she’d spent twice that
long in a furious and dedicated flight from any form of
innocence. Her left leg was stretched out under the edge of
the table with her skirt hiked up, and the man was grinning
slyly as he wrote something on her naked thigh with her
lipstick. She met my eyes and shrugged.
Talk of The Town by Charles Williams(1)
1
It wasn't a very large town. The highway came into it from
the west across a bridge spanning a slow-moving and muddy
river with an unpronounceable Indian name, and then ran
straight through the central business district for four or five
blocks down a wide street with angle parking and four
traffic lights at successive intersections. I was just pulling
away from the last light, going about twenty miles per hour
in the right-hand lane, when some local in a beat-up old
panel truck decided to come shooting backwards out of his
parking place without looking behind him.
There was another car on my left, so all I could do was to
slam on my brakes just before I plowed into him. There was
a crash of metal followed by a succession of tinkling sounds
as fragments of grill-work and shards of glass rained onto
the pavement. Necks craned up and down the sun-blasted
street.
I locked the handbrake and got out, and shook my head
with disgust as I sized up the damage. The front bumper was
knocked loose at one end, and the right fender and smashed
headlight were crumpled in on the wheel. But the worst of it
was the spout of hot water streaming out through the
wreckage of the grill.
It wasn't a very large town. The highway came into it from
the west across a bridge spanning a slow-moving and muddy
river with an unpronounceable Indian name, and then ran
straight through the central business district for four or five
blocks down a wide street with angle parking and four
traffic lights at successive intersections. I was just pulling
away from the last light, going about twenty miles per hour
in the right-hand lane, when some local in a beat-up old
panel truck decided to come shooting backwards out of his
parking place without looking behind him.
There was another car on my left, so all I could do was to
slam on my brakes just before I plowed into him. There was
a crash of metal followed by a succession of tinkling sounds
as fragments of grill-work and shards of glass rained onto
the pavement. Necks craned up and down the sun-blasted
street.
I locked the handbrake and got out, and shook my head
with disgust as I sized up the damage. The front bumper was
knocked loose at one end, and the right fender and smashed
headlight were crumpled in on the wheel. But the worst of it
was the spout of hot water streaming out through the
wreckage of the grill.
October 20, 2010
River Girl by Charles Williams(14)
had said about the bed she’d made in the back? That
would be perfect. There would be a lot less chance of
our being spotted with just me alone up here than
with both of us. I put her down temporarily in the
seat while I reached for the keys to unlock the trunk.
Then I noticed I was still carrying the jailer’s key
ring in my hand. I threw it out into the street and
went around to the back, and unlocked the trunk and
raised it. She went into it perfectly, curled up like a
child with her head on the pillow. But suppose she
wakes up there in the dark, I thought. I ran back to
the front and looked in the glove compartment.
There was a flashlight, as I had hoped, and I
snapped it on and put it down beside her on the
blankets. She’ll know where she is, I thought.
I didn’t want to leave her. But it’s only for a little
while, I thought. As soon as we’re out of the worst of
the danger area I’ll pull off onto a side road
somewhere, by a little creek, and she can get out
and I’ll shave myself. I put the shell down and went
back and lifted the back seat up, pulled it out a little.
Feeling back with my hand, I could see there was
plenty of opening for air to get through, and with the
shell closed the carbon monoxide from the exhaust
couldn’t back up on her.
I jumped into the seat, and then discovered I had
left the keys in the lock of the trunk. I was getting
jittery with the hurry now. There still wasn’t anyone
in the street and it was growing light. I ran back,
snatched them out, and climbed in. It had been too
easy, and I was scared.
would be perfect. There would be a lot less chance of
our being spotted with just me alone up here than
with both of us. I put her down temporarily in the
seat while I reached for the keys to unlock the trunk.
Then I noticed I was still carrying the jailer’s key
ring in my hand. I threw it out into the street and
went around to the back, and unlocked the trunk and
raised it. She went into it perfectly, curled up like a
child with her head on the pillow. But suppose she
wakes up there in the dark, I thought. I ran back to
the front and looked in the glove compartment.
There was a flashlight, as I had hoped, and I
snapped it on and put it down beside her on the
blankets. She’ll know where she is, I thought.
I didn’t want to leave her. But it’s only for a little
while, I thought. As soon as we’re out of the worst of
the danger area I’ll pull off onto a side road
somewhere, by a little creek, and she can get out
and I’ll shave myself. I put the shell down and went
back and lifted the back seat up, pulled it out a little.
Feeling back with my hand, I could see there was
plenty of opening for air to get through, and with the
shell closed the carbon monoxide from the exhaust
couldn’t back up on her.
I jumped into the seat, and then discovered I had
left the keys in the lock of the trunk. I was getting
jittery with the hurry now. There still wasn’t anyone
in the street and it was growing light. I ran back,
snatched them out, and climbed in. It had been too
easy, and I was scared.
River Girl by Charles Williams(13)
the rifle almost at the same time because he was so
near. Before the sound had even died I was on my
feet, knowing somehow that I had to get up and over
the bank while he was working the bolt or I would
never move from there alive. And then I was in the
trees, hurtling zigzag through them while the gun
cracked again. They had cut the motors and in
another few seconds they would be on the bank
themselves and chasing me.
I didn’t know where I ran, or how far. There was
just the pain in my chest and the crying sound from
my open mouth as it gulped for air, and the only
thing my mind could hold was the picture of that
long, canvas-wrapped bundle like an old rolled-up
rug lying in the bottom of the second boat. After a
while I fell, unable to move, and lay there in the
brush trying to still the tortured sound of my
breathing enough to listen. There was no sound
behind me now.
River Girl — 223
Twenty-five
I don't know how long I lay there on the ground with
nothing but the numbness and the terror in my mind.
We were whipped now, and this was the end. They
already had her, and I was trapped. They had found
him; they knew I had killed him and I was a fugitive
with no plan of escape and nothing ahead but futile
and senseless flight. Flight? I thought. To where? I
looked down at my clothes, at the utter ruin that I
had deliberately sought,
River Girl by Charles Williams(12)
I pushed through the crowd to the lunch counter
and ordered a cup of coffee. What had she told
them? That was the question that went through my
River Girl — 208
mind over and over. Everything depended on that,
and there wasn’t any way I could know. Suppose she
had confessed? In spite of the sticky heat I felt the
chill between my shoulder blades. And it was
possible; I knew it. In her terror and confusion, not
even knowing what she had been picked up for, with
all of them firing questions at her, who knew what
she might blurt out?
But suppose, I thought, trying to pick up the
thread of thought I’d had before I realized I had to
get out of the hotel, suppose she kept her head and
hasn’t said anything so far? Then we’re safe enough
—for the moment. The danger then would lie in the
fact that eventually they might wear her down, keep
hammering at her until she let something slip, or
that eventually, as they kept looking for my body,
they might find Shevlin’s. That was a very real
danger now that Raines had joined in the search
because he wasn’t trying to cover anything up, as
Buford was. Therefore, I had to get her out of there.
But how? Obviously, the only way I could do it was
by turning myself in, or coming back to life. And
then they would be asking me the question, the big
one: Where was Shevlin?
But wait, I thought. I was very close to it a while
ago when I had to run away from the hotel. Suppose
I could come back to light in some way that wouldn’t
indicate I had ever been down here at all or even
knew her?
and ordered a cup of coffee. What had she told
them? That was the question that went through my
River Girl — 208
mind over and over. Everything depended on that,
and there wasn’t any way I could know. Suppose she
had confessed? In spite of the sticky heat I felt the
chill between my shoulder blades. And it was
possible; I knew it. In her terror and confusion, not
even knowing what she had been picked up for, with
all of them firing questions at her, who knew what
she might blurt out?
But suppose, I thought, trying to pick up the
thread of thought I’d had before I realized I had to
get out of the hotel, suppose she kept her head and
hasn’t said anything so far? Then we’re safe enough
—for the moment. The danger then would lie in the
fact that eventually they might wear her down, keep
hammering at her until she let something slip, or
that eventually, as they kept looking for my body,
they might find Shevlin’s. That was a very real
danger now that Raines had joined in the search
because he wasn’t trying to cover anything up, as
Buford was. Therefore, I had to get her out of there.
But how? Obviously, the only way I could do it was
by turning myself in, or coming back to life. And
then they would be asking me the question, the big
one: Where was Shevlin?
But wait, I thought. I was very close to it a while
ago when I had to run away from the hotel. Suppose
I could come back to light in some way that wouldn’t
indicate I had ever been down here at all or even
knew her?
River Girl by Charles Williams(11)
Thinking of the watch reminded me of the time
and I looked at mine. It was after eight. The first
editions of the morning papers should be on the
street in a little while, if they weren’t already. I
should go down to the lobby and get them, I thought,
but it was too pleasant just sitting there waiting for
her to come out again so I could see how she looked.
I’ll pick them up when we go out to dinner, I
thought.
River Girl — 192
I heard the door open, and looked up and whistled
softly. She was very tall and smart-looking and cool
in a white skirt and short white jacket, with a blouse
of frosty blue gathered in some kind of ruffle about
her throat. The stockings were very sheer and she
had on white shoes that didn’t appear to be much
more than high heels and straps.
She turned, holding out her arms. “How do I look,
Jack?”
“Don’t come any closer. I might try to bite you.”
“Do I really look all right?”
I got up from the bed, conscious of what a crumbylooking
specimen I was now beside her, with nothing
on except my shorts and with the stubble of black
and I looked at mine. It was after eight. The first
editions of the morning papers should be on the
street in a little while, if they weren’t already. I
should go down to the lobby and get them, I thought,
but it was too pleasant just sitting there waiting for
her to come out again so I could see how she looked.
I’ll pick them up when we go out to dinner, I
thought.
River Girl — 192
I heard the door open, and looked up and whistled
softly. She was very tall and smart-looking and cool
in a white skirt and short white jacket, with a blouse
of frosty blue gathered in some kind of ruffle about
her throat. The stockings were very sheer and she
had on white shoes that didn’t appear to be much
more than high heels and straps.
She turned, holding out her arms. “How do I look,
Jack?”
“Don’t come any closer. I might try to bite you.”
“Do I really look all right?”
I got up from the bed, conscious of what a crumbylooking
specimen I was now beside her, with nothing
on except my shorts and with the stubble of black
River Girl by Charles Williams(10)
I ducked into an all-night cafe and went back to
the telephone. Looking up the number of the hotel, I
dialed and waited.
The fan didn’t work and it was stifling inside the
booth. “State Hotel.” It was a girl’s voice. The
operator was still on duty.
“A Mrs. Crawford, please. Is she registered? This
is United Airlines.”
“Just one moment, please.” She paused. “Yes, sir.
I’m ringing.”
“Thank you,” I said. I waited, feeling the tightness
growing inside my chest as I realized how near I was
to her at last. How long had it been since I had let
her out of the car in Colston?
“Hello.” It was Doris.
River Girl — 172
I wanted to cry out, “Darling, this is Jack!” Instead
I asked smoothly, or as smoothly as I could, “Mrs.
Crawford? This is United Airlines, the reservation
desk.” Would she recognize my voice and not say
anything wrong? “We’re very sorry, but so far we’ve
been unable to confirm your reservation west of Salt
Lake. I think we’ll have it in another hour or two,
however. Shall we call you then, or wait till
morning?”
I heard a barely audible gasp and then she came
through beautifully. “Thank you. Tomorrow morning
will be all right. Just call me at Room Three-twelve
here at the hotel.”
“Thank you,” I said. I hung up.
the telephone. Looking up the number of the hotel, I
dialed and waited.
The fan didn’t work and it was stifling inside the
booth. “State Hotel.” It was a girl’s voice. The
operator was still on duty.
“A Mrs. Crawford, please. Is she registered? This
is United Airlines.”
“Just one moment, please.” She paused. “Yes, sir.
I’m ringing.”
“Thank you,” I said. I waited, feeling the tightness
growing inside my chest as I realized how near I was
to her at last. How long had it been since I had let
her out of the car in Colston?
“Hello.” It was Doris.
River Girl — 172
I wanted to cry out, “Darling, this is Jack!” Instead
I asked smoothly, or as smoothly as I could, “Mrs.
Crawford? This is United Airlines, the reservation
desk.” Would she recognize my voice and not say
anything wrong? “We’re very sorry, but so far we’ve
been unable to confirm your reservation west of Salt
Lake. I think we’ll have it in another hour or two,
however. Shall we call you then, or wait till
morning?”
I heard a barely audible gasp and then she came
through beautifully. “Thank you. Tomorrow morning
will be all right. Just call me at Room Three-twelve
here at the hotel.”
“Thank you,” I said. I hung up.
River Girl by Charles Williams(9)
The water was warm. I lay in it, naked, alongside
the boat, with one hand on the gunwale, trying not
to think of anything except the motor. I can’t wait all
day, I thought. If I don’t do it now I’ll lose my nerve.
Shutting my mind to everything, to all thought, I
took a deep breath and dived. I seemed to go on for
a long time, pulling myself down with powerful
strokes of my hands, wanting to turn back but
forcing myself to go ahead. It must be twenty feet
deep instead of twelve, I thought wildly, and then I
felt the soft mud under my arm. I was against the
bottom. This was the terrible part of it now. Pulling
upward against the water with my hands to keep
myself flat against the mud, I groped around with
them, feeling for the motor. There was no use in
opening my eyes to try to see, for at this depth in the
discolored water there would be no light at all. I
River Girl — 155
swung my arms around wildly and felt nothing. My
lungs were beginning to hurt and I thought of the
boat above me, knowing I had to come up carefully
as I approached the surface or I might bang my head
into it. I couldn’t wait too long. Putting my feet
against the mud, I sprang upward, bringing my arms
up over my head to feel for the boat. I missed it and
came out of the water gasping for breath.
I can’t give up, I thought, my mind still focused
with that terrible intensity on just one thing—the
motor. I gulped a deep breath and dived again.
When I was against the bottom I started sweeping it
again with my arms, and then my left hand brushed
against something just at the ends of my fingers. I
turned toward it, feeling my skin draw up tightly
with revulsion. It was a shoe. Bringing my right hand
around, I groped with it, moving a little, and felt the
canvas coat. I was fighting desperately now to keep
from being sick here twelve feet under water and
drowning myself with the retching.
the boat, with one hand on the gunwale, trying not
to think of anything except the motor. I can’t wait all
day, I thought. If I don’t do it now I’ll lose my nerve.
Shutting my mind to everything, to all thought, I
took a deep breath and dived. I seemed to go on for
a long time, pulling myself down with powerful
strokes of my hands, wanting to turn back but
forcing myself to go ahead. It must be twenty feet
deep instead of twelve, I thought wildly, and then I
felt the soft mud under my arm. I was against the
bottom. This was the terrible part of it now. Pulling
upward against the water with my hands to keep
myself flat against the mud, I groped around with
them, feeling for the motor. There was no use in
opening my eyes to try to see, for at this depth in the
discolored water there would be no light at all. I
River Girl — 155
swung my arms around wildly and felt nothing. My
lungs were beginning to hurt and I thought of the
boat above me, knowing I had to come up carefully
as I approached the surface or I might bang my head
into it. I couldn’t wait too long. Putting my feet
against the mud, I sprang upward, bringing my arms
up over my head to feel for the boat. I missed it and
came out of the water gasping for breath.
I can’t give up, I thought, my mind still focused
with that terrible intensity on just one thing—the
motor. I gulped a deep breath and dived again.
When I was against the bottom I started sweeping it
again with my arms, and then my left hand brushed
against something just at the ends of my fingers. I
turned toward it, feeling my skin draw up tightly
with revulsion. It was a shoe. Bringing my right hand
around, I groped with it, moving a little, and felt the
canvas coat. I was fighting desperately now to keep
from being sick here twelve feet under water and
drowning myself with the retching.
River Girl by Charles Williams(8)
“No,” I said. “All I see is a chump who got in over
his head and is trying to wiggle out.”
“Maybe you’re not looking from where I am.” She
smiled, and then went on, “But let me tell you what I
had in mind. Tonight when you told Buford what you
were going to do, you didn’t make any mention of
what was going to happen after you abandoned the
River Girl — 141
boat there in the swamp. Have you thought about
that? You don’t mind my asking, do you?”
“No,” I said. “Not at all.”
“Good. You realize, of course, don’t you, that
you’re going to be afoot and that when you get out to
the highway you won’t be able to flag a ride because
whoever gives you a lift will remember you. And,
naturally, you can’t take your car. Also, even if you
walked to the next town, you wouldn’t dare get on a
bus there. They might remember you.”
“Yes,” I said. “I know that. It’s not very good, that
part of it, but it can’t be helped.”
Actually, I had an idea about it, but I didn’t see any
point in telling her. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her,
but there just wasn’t any reason she had to know.
There was a railroad across on the far side of the
swamp, and at one place a water tank and siding
where freights went in the-hole for passenger trains.
his head and is trying to wiggle out.”
“Maybe you’re not looking from where I am.” She
smiled, and then went on, “But let me tell you what I
had in mind. Tonight when you told Buford what you
were going to do, you didn’t make any mention of
what was going to happen after you abandoned the
River Girl — 141
boat there in the swamp. Have you thought about
that? You don’t mind my asking, do you?”
“No,” I said. “Not at all.”
“Good. You realize, of course, don’t you, that
you’re going to be afoot and that when you get out to
the highway you won’t be able to flag a ride because
whoever gives you a lift will remember you. And,
naturally, you can’t take your car. Also, even if you
walked to the next town, you wouldn’t dare get on a
bus there. They might remember you.”
“Yes,” I said. “I know that. It’s not very good, that
part of it, but it can’t be helped.”
Actually, I had an idea about it, but I didn’t see any
point in telling her. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her,
but there just wasn’t any reason she had to know.
There was a railroad across on the far side of the
swamp, and at one place a water tank and siding
where freights went in the-hole for passenger trains.
River Girl by Charles Williams(7)
She thanked me again for the money
and got out. I saw her walk up the street toward the
station. What a life, I thought. Cat house behind, cat
house ahead. Then I snapped out of it. I was in a hell
of a spot to be feeling sorry for her.
River Girl — 122
I drove around and parked in front of the
courthouse and sat there for a minute, trying to
think. Cars lazily circled the square, boys out riding
with their girl friends; and something about it,
maybe the summer night or the hissing sound of
tires or the quick, musical laughter of a girl,
suddenly made me think of how it had been before I
went off to the Army all those years ago in 1942,
how it had been to be home from college in the
summer, out riding in the Judge’s automobile, a
Chevrolet somehow forever five years old. God, I
thought, that was a long time back.
I shook my head, trying to clear it, like a fighter
taking a beating. Get up there, I thought. Get up to
the office and see what you can find on Shevlin;
Buford can wait a little while. But what about this
other mess? It was going to blow wide open,
tomorrow or the next day. If I tried to disappear
now, wouldn’t everybody know it was a phony? And,
knowing it was a fake, they would do a lot of looking
into the place where I had disappeared, a place I
didn’t ever want anybody nosing around because
that was where Shevlin was. I’d be better off to stay
here and take the rap on the probable bribery
charge than to direct any attention toward Shevlin.
But, then, there was no use trying to kid myself that
Shevlin’s disappearance was going to continue
unnoticed forever. Somebody would miss him and
start looking into it. I shook my head again, and ran
a hand across my face. It was like being at the
bottom of a well.
and got out. I saw her walk up the street toward the
station. What a life, I thought. Cat house behind, cat
house ahead. Then I snapped out of it. I was in a hell
of a spot to be feeling sorry for her.
River Girl — 122
I drove around and parked in front of the
courthouse and sat there for a minute, trying to
think. Cars lazily circled the square, boys out riding
with their girl friends; and something about it,
maybe the summer night or the hissing sound of
tires or the quick, musical laughter of a girl,
suddenly made me think of how it had been before I
went off to the Army all those years ago in 1942,
how it had been to be home from college in the
summer, out riding in the Judge’s automobile, a
Chevrolet somehow forever five years old. God, I
thought, that was a long time back.
I shook my head, trying to clear it, like a fighter
taking a beating. Get up there, I thought. Get up to
the office and see what you can find on Shevlin;
Buford can wait a little while. But what about this
other mess? It was going to blow wide open,
tomorrow or the next day. If I tried to disappear
now, wouldn’t everybody know it was a phony? And,
knowing it was a fake, they would do a lot of looking
into the place where I had disappeared, a place I
didn’t ever want anybody nosing around because
that was where Shevlin was. I’d be better off to stay
here and take the rap on the probable bribery
charge than to direct any attention toward Shevlin.
But, then, there was no use trying to kid myself that
Shevlin’s disappearance was going to continue
unnoticed forever. Somebody would miss him and
start looking into it. I shook my head again, and ran
a hand across my face. It was like being at the
bottom of a well.
River Girl by Charles Williams(6)
“I’m going to tell you good-by here,” I said,
“because I’m going to drop you off a block or so from
the bus station and run. There will be a bus for
Bayou City sometime this evening, around seven, I
think. You’ll arrive there a little before midnight. Go
to the State Hotel. It’s a small one, quiet, and not too
expensive, but still not crumby enough for the cops
to have their eyes on it. Register as Mrs. Crawford
and just wait until I show up. Try to buy yourself a
few clothes, but make the money go as far as
possible, because we’re going to have to travel by
bus. I won’t be able to bring the car the way things
are going to work out. And be sure to remember
this: When I get there, don’t recognize me. It may be
safer for us to travel separately until we get clear
out of the state. You can slip me the number of your
room on the quiet, but don’t let anybody see that you
even know me.”
I took her face in both my hands. “I won’t see you
for forty-eight hours, and after that we’ll be together
River Girl — 105
for the rest of our lives. So this is two days’ worth of
good-by, and then there’ll never be another one.”
She held onto me, and when she finally stirred and
pushed back on my chest her eyes were wet.
“Jack,” she whispered, “I’m afraid.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” I said. “Just hang
on.”
“But you’re up to something.”
“because I’m going to drop you off a block or so from
the bus station and run. There will be a bus for
Bayou City sometime this evening, around seven, I
think. You’ll arrive there a little before midnight. Go
to the State Hotel. It’s a small one, quiet, and not too
expensive, but still not crumby enough for the cops
to have their eyes on it. Register as Mrs. Crawford
and just wait until I show up. Try to buy yourself a
few clothes, but make the money go as far as
possible, because we’re going to have to travel by
bus. I won’t be able to bring the car the way things
are going to work out. And be sure to remember
this: When I get there, don’t recognize me. It may be
safer for us to travel separately until we get clear
out of the state. You can slip me the number of your
room on the quiet, but don’t let anybody see that you
even know me.”
I took her face in both my hands. “I won’t see you
for forty-eight hours, and after that we’ll be together
River Girl — 105
for the rest of our lives. So this is two days’ worth of
good-by, and then there’ll never be another one.”
She held onto me, and when she finally stirred and
pushed back on my chest her eyes were wet.
“Jack,” she whispered, “I’m afraid.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” I said. “Just hang
on.”
“But you’re up to something.”
River Girl by Charles Williams(5)
I could see her fighting to get hold of herself.
“We’ve got to go,” she whispered frantically. “We’ve
got to get out of here! Oh, Jack!” She started to
River Girl — 88
break up again and I shook her a little, holding her
very tightly until she stopped.
“I’m sorry,” she said weakly. “I’ll be all right in a
minute so we can go.”
“No,” I said, not wanting to do it but knowing I had
to. “We can’t go now.”
She stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. “We can’t
go? But Jack, we’ve—we’ve got to.”
“It won’t do any good to run now,” I said. My mind
was working enough to see that.
“But it’s the only thing we can do.”
“No,” I said. “You saw what it did to him; being
hunted, I mean. We can’t do it. We wouldn’t have a
chance of getting out of the country, in the first
place, and if we did we’d just be running the rest of
our lives or until they caught us.”
“But what are we going to do?” she cried out
piteously. “What can we do now. Isn’t he—?” I could
see in her eyes the question she couldn’t ask.
“He’s dead,” I said bluntly, trying to get it on the
line so we could look at it and know where we had to
start.
“But you couldn’t help it, Jack! You couldn’t!
Wouldn’t they see you had to do it, that you were
trying to protect me?”
I shook my head, not wanting to do it, but knowing
there wasn’t room enough for even one of us in that
fool’s paradise. I hadn’t done it because I had to. I’d
done it because I’d lost my head, gone completely
wild when I saw him start for her.
“We’ve got to go,” she whispered frantically. “We’ve
got to get out of here! Oh, Jack!” She started to
River Girl — 88
break up again and I shook her a little, holding her
very tightly until she stopped.
“I’m sorry,” she said weakly. “I’ll be all right in a
minute so we can go.”
“No,” I said, not wanting to do it but knowing I had
to. “We can’t go now.”
She stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. “We can’t
go? But Jack, we’ve—we’ve got to.”
“It won’t do any good to run now,” I said. My mind
was working enough to see that.
“But it’s the only thing we can do.”
“No,” I said. “You saw what it did to him; being
hunted, I mean. We can’t do it. We wouldn’t have a
chance of getting out of the country, in the first
place, and if we did we’d just be running the rest of
our lives or until they caught us.”
“But what are we going to do?” she cried out
piteously. “What can we do now. Isn’t he—?” I could
see in her eyes the question she couldn’t ask.
“He’s dead,” I said bluntly, trying to get it on the
line so we could look at it and know where we had to
start.
“But you couldn’t help it, Jack! You couldn’t!
Wouldn’t they see you had to do it, that you were
trying to protect me?”
I shook my head, not wanting to do it, but knowing
there wasn’t room enough for even one of us in that
fool’s paradise. I hadn’t done it because I had to. I’d
done it because I’d lost my head, gone completely
wild when I saw him start for her.
River Girl by Charles Williams(4)
They were slender feet, quite small and beautifully
formed, but rough and calloused on the soles from
going barefoot, and they were dusty from the trail.
Very carefully, with my fingers I brushed all the dust
from them, as if they were very old pieces of
fabulously valuable and very fragile jewelry I had
found gathering cobwebs in an attic. Then I turned
them slightly inward, pressing the soles together up
near the toes, and held them, thinking how small and
breakable they looked, like the delicate feet of a
china doll, in the big, dark hands. I looked up and
River Girl — 69
she was watching me with a misty softness in her
eyes.
“Why are you doing that, Jack?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I said.
I looked up again and she was crying, quite silently
and without any movement of her face.
* * *
Time came back for us without any warning. It was
the sound of a motor.
formed, but rough and calloused on the soles from
going barefoot, and they were dusty from the trail.
Very carefully, with my fingers I brushed all the dust
from them, as if they were very old pieces of
fabulously valuable and very fragile jewelry I had
found gathering cobwebs in an attic. Then I turned
them slightly inward, pressing the soles together up
near the toes, and held them, thinking how small and
breakable they looked, like the delicate feet of a
china doll, in the big, dark hands. I looked up and
River Girl — 69
she was watching me with a misty softness in her
eyes.
“Why are you doing that, Jack?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I said.
I looked up again and she was crying, quite silently
and without any movement of her face.
* * *
Time came back for us without any warning. It was
the sound of a motor.
River Girl by Charles Williams(3)
“You took a hell of a long time finding it out,” I
grumbled, but glad he was getting some sense at
last I could still hear the girl inside the room cursing
obscenely and shrilly with the monotonous repetition
River Girl — 45
of a phonograph record with the needle stuck. Afraid
she would get him started again, I stepped over and
stuck my head in through the smashed panel.
“Pipe down,” I said. Then I saw her, and began to
feel scared for the first time. She was sitting on the
bed in a sleazy-looking kimono with her blonde hair
rumpled as if she’d just got up, and if she was a day
over sixteen, I was sixty.
River Girl — 46
Six
She saw me. “Who the hell are you?”
“Never mind,” I said. “Just stop that noise.”
“Why, you jerk!”
I heard the boy behind me and turned around. He
was putting on his clothes, stuffing the shirttail
inside his trousers. He had quit crying, but his face
was white and trembling and I could still see that
wild look in his eyes.
grumbled, but glad he was getting some sense at
last I could still hear the girl inside the room cursing
obscenely and shrilly with the monotonous repetition
River Girl — 45
of a phonograph record with the needle stuck. Afraid
she would get him started again, I stepped over and
stuck my head in through the smashed panel.
“Pipe down,” I said. Then I saw her, and began to
feel scared for the first time. She was sitting on the
bed in a sleazy-looking kimono with her blonde hair
rumpled as if she’d just got up, and if she was a day
over sixteen, I was sixty.
River Girl — 46
Six
She saw me. “Who the hell are you?”
“Never mind,” I said. “Just stop that noise.”
“Why, you jerk!”
I heard the boy behind me and turned around. He
was putting on his clothes, stuffing the shirttail
inside his trousers. He had quit crying, but his face
was white and trembling and I could still see that
wild look in his eyes.
October 19, 2010
River Girl by Charles Williams(2)
“Yes. Do you want me to cut the shirt away?”
I nodded. “That’d be best. Then we can see what
we’re doing.”
She got a small pair of manicure scissors out of the
dresser and slit the shirt around the hook. I
unbuttoned it and slid it off, and turned my back to
the mirror to look over my shoulder. I was deeply
tanned from the waist up and wore no undershirt.
The streamer fly was a vivid slash of white and silver
tinsel against the sun-blackened hide, and as well as
I could tell, the barb was deeply embedded. I caught
a glimpse of my face in the mirror and for the first
time remembered I hadn’t shaved since yesterday,
and wondered what kind of thug I must look like to
her, big, with the flat, sun-darkened face rasping
with black stubble.
I motioned with a hand and passed her the
diagonal pliers. “Pinch the muscle and skin up with
your fingers and run it on through as if you were
baiting a hook,” I instructed.
“It’ll hurt,” she said quietly.
“Some,” I said.
River Girl — 23
I nodded. “That’d be best. Then we can see what
we’re doing.”
She got a small pair of manicure scissors out of the
dresser and slit the shirt around the hook. I
unbuttoned it and slid it off, and turned my back to
the mirror to look over my shoulder. I was deeply
tanned from the waist up and wore no undershirt.
The streamer fly was a vivid slash of white and silver
tinsel against the sun-blackened hide, and as well as
I could tell, the barb was deeply embedded. I caught
a glimpse of my face in the mirror and for the first
time remembered I hadn’t shaved since yesterday,
and wondered what kind of thug I must look like to
her, big, with the flat, sun-darkened face rasping
with black stubble.
I motioned with a hand and passed her the
diagonal pliers. “Pinch the muscle and skin up with
your fingers and run it on through as if you were
baiting a hook,” I instructed.
“It’ll hurt,” she said quietly.
“Some,” I said.
River Girl — 23
October 18, 2010
River Girl by Charles Williams(1)
One
It was three in the afternoon and hot. Tar was
boiling out of the black-top paving around the square
and heat waves shimmered above the sidewalks. I
drove on through town and down the street to the
jail with the Negro boy. He was about nineteen and
looked scared to death.
“I ain’t done nothing, Cap’n,” he kept saying.
“O.K.,” I said. “Relax. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”
My head still ached from last night and his talking
got on my nerves.
I turned him over to Cassieres at the jail. “Stick
him in the county tank. Did Buford call you?”
“No,” he said. “What’s he booked for?”
It was three in the afternoon and hot. Tar was
boiling out of the black-top paving around the square
and heat waves shimmered above the sidewalks. I
drove on through town and down the street to the
jail with the Negro boy. He was about nineteen and
looked scared to death.
“I ain’t done nothing, Cap’n,” he kept saying.
“O.K.,” I said. “Relax. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”
My head still ached from last night and his talking
got on my nerves.
I turned him over to Cassieres at the jail. “Stick
him in the county tank. Did Buford call you?”
“No,” he said. “What’s he booked for?”
October 16, 2010
Nothing In Her Way by Charles Williams(9)
Nothing in Her Way — 181
Pain was still pounding at my skull, but my mind was
clearing a little so I could think. We had to keep our
heads. If we let the sounds on the other side of the door
push us over the edge and started going wild, we’d all
be dead. She would break after a while and tell them
where the money was, but maybe Brock wasn’t
interested primarily in the money alone. You could see
he got his fun in other ways.
I moved shakily to the window and looked out. It was
totally dark now, and fog pressed in on the building like
saturated gauze. Nine floors down the street lamp was
faintly visible, while below and to the left the neon sign
over the cocktail lounge was a diffused and watery
splash of orange. I reached for the light switch and cut
it and looked again. Beyond me to the left one of the
big casement windows in the living room was partly
open. The drapes were drawn but a little light escaped
to seep futilely into the fog and lose itself. I strained my
eyes downward and could just faintly see what I was
looking for, a narrow ledge perhaps five inches wide
running across the front of the building just below the
windows.
Pain was still pounding at my skull, but my mind was
clearing a little so I could think. We had to keep our
heads. If we let the sounds on the other side of the door
push us over the edge and started going wild, we’d all
be dead. She would break after a while and tell them
where the money was, but maybe Brock wasn’t
interested primarily in the money alone. You could see
he got his fun in other ways.
I moved shakily to the window and looked out. It was
totally dark now, and fog pressed in on the building like
saturated gauze. Nine floors down the street lamp was
faintly visible, while below and to the left the neon sign
over the cocktail lounge was a diffused and watery
splash of orange. I reached for the light switch and cut
it and looked again. Beyond me to the left one of the
big casement windows in the living room was partly
open. The drapes were drawn but a little light escaped
to seep futilely into the fog and lose itself. I strained my
eyes downward and could just faintly see what I was
looking for, a narrow ledge perhaps five inches wide
running across the front of the building just below the
windows.
Nothing In Her Way by Charles Williams(8)
“Nice try,” he said, with something like approval in
the sharp gray eyes. “But to get on—I’ll be as brief as
possible. To put it in four words, Reichert, the jig is up.
My uncle, as you’ve probably already guessed, is a Mr.
Howard C. Goodwin, of Wyecross. It might interest you
to know that he suffered a nervous breakdown as a
result of that expensive bit of hocus-pocus you and your
friends sold him. Incidentally, it was a brilliant piece of
work, and I believe you’d have got away with it entirely
except for the thing that so often happens when a
number of persons—some of them with police records—
are involved. Around three weeks ago Mr. Wolford
Charles fell afoul of the police in Florida on an old
charge, and in the course of the investigation he let
drop a few revelations concerning this particular bit of
moonshine.”
I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t even move. I
wanted to get up and run, but my legs wouldn’t work.
Charlie had been caught, and because she had beaten
him and the double cross and taken all the money, he’d
spilled it to get revenge. All I could do was sit there and
listen while this remorselessly efficient machine
dictated the bill of indictment.
the sharp gray eyes. “But to get on—I’ll be as brief as
possible. To put it in four words, Reichert, the jig is up.
My uncle, as you’ve probably already guessed, is a Mr.
Howard C. Goodwin, of Wyecross. It might interest you
to know that he suffered a nervous breakdown as a
result of that expensive bit of hocus-pocus you and your
friends sold him. Incidentally, it was a brilliant piece of
work, and I believe you’d have got away with it entirely
except for the thing that so often happens when a
number of persons—some of them with police records—
are involved. Around three weeks ago Mr. Wolford
Charles fell afoul of the police in Florida on an old
charge, and in the course of the investigation he let
drop a few revelations concerning this particular bit of
moonshine.”
I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t even move. I
wanted to get up and run, but my legs wouldn’t work.
Charlie had been caught, and because she had beaten
him and the double cross and taken all the money, he’d
spilled it to get revenge. All I could do was sit there and
listen while this remorselessly efficient machine
dictated the bill of indictment.
Nothing In Her Way by Charles Williams(7)
Nothing in Her Way — 125
Fourteen
We didn’t get up until late, and around noon she went
out. She was enchanting in a whole new spring outfit,
smart and very lovely from nylons to short-veiled hat,
and when she came to kiss me she left a hint of
fragrance that lingered in the apartment after she was
gone.
“I’m off to betray you, darling,” she said.
I prowled irritably around the apartment. Was he
going for it, or was he just going for her? She was
convinced he was rising to the bait, but just how sure
were we as to what he considered the bait? Maybe, as
far as he was concerned, she was it. Lachlan had money
already. He didn’t chase girls to get money; he used
money to chase girls. And what if Bolton had tipped him
off, as he’d threatened, and he was laughing about the
whole thing, playing along with us while the police
Fourteen
We didn’t get up until late, and around noon she went
out. She was enchanting in a whole new spring outfit,
smart and very lovely from nylons to short-veiled hat,
and when she came to kiss me she left a hint of
fragrance that lingered in the apartment after she was
gone.
“I’m off to betray you, darling,” she said.
I prowled irritably around the apartment. Was he
going for it, or was he just going for her? She was
convinced he was rising to the bait, but just how sure
were we as to what he considered the bait? Maybe, as
far as he was concerned, she was it. Lachlan had money
already. He didn’t chase girls to get money; he used
money to chase girls. And what if Bolton had tipped him
off, as he’d threatened, and he was laughing about the
whole thing, playing along with us while the police
Nothing In Her Way by Charles Williams(6)
I could see that routine was out. As she’d said, they’d
known they were sold as soon as they took a look at the
car. I had to try something else.
“Cathy?” I asked in surprise. “How would I know?”
“Oh, I see. She’s not with you?” he murmured
politely.
“No,” I said. “I went off and left her in El Paso. She’s
lucky I didn’t strangle her. Leaving me there in
Wyecross to get away the best way I could.”
“Two down,” he said boredly. “Now, if you’re sure
you’re finished with that one, we’ll get on with it. You
left Reno together just a week ago, if that’s any help to
you, so where is she?”
He had me. He knew all the answers. I lit a cigarette
to stall for time. “You don’t think I’m going to tell you,
do you?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I think so. As a matter of
fact, you probably won’t have to. If you’ll just tell her
you saw me and give her a message, she’ll probably call
me.”
“She won’t,” I said. “But let’s have the message.”
“Tell her if I don’t get my share of that money, I’m
going to call Lachlan.”
He had us. He had us right over the barrel. One word
to Lachlan and the whole thing would blow up and drift
away in a cloud of smoke before it even got started. I
sat there looking at the wreckage of all our plans with a
sort of numb helplessness, and it was a long minute
before the full implication of it hit me.
known they were sold as soon as they took a look at the
car. I had to try something else.
“Cathy?” I asked in surprise. “How would I know?”
“Oh, I see. She’s not with you?” he murmured
politely.
“No,” I said. “I went off and left her in El Paso. She’s
lucky I didn’t strangle her. Leaving me there in
Wyecross to get away the best way I could.”
“Two down,” he said boredly. “Now, if you’re sure
you’re finished with that one, we’ll get on with it. You
left Reno together just a week ago, if that’s any help to
you, so where is she?”
He had me. He knew all the answers. I lit a cigarette
to stall for time. “You don’t think I’m going to tell you,
do you?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I think so. As a matter of
fact, you probably won’t have to. If you’ll just tell her
you saw me and give her a message, she’ll probably call
me.”
“She won’t,” I said. “But let’s have the message.”
“Tell her if I don’t get my share of that money, I’m
going to call Lachlan.”
He had us. He had us right over the barrel. One word
to Lachlan and the whole thing would blow up and drift
away in a cloud of smoke before it even got started. I
sat there looking at the wreckage of all our plans with a
sort of numb helplessness, and it was a long minute
before the full implication of it hit me.
Nothing In Her Way by Charles Williams(5)
“It wasn’t too hard to guess what they were up to,”
she said. “When I came back from Houston I had an
idea they were speeding things up a little. I called the
hotel at Ludley Friday morning, and then called
Houston. And when Charlie wasn’t at either place I
knew our laughing boys had their shoes in their hands
and were headed for the door. I tried to call you, but
you were out. It was too late by then to pick you up, of
course, but with luck I might get them before they
could get away from El Paso. Of course, I could have
just gone to them and demanded our share, but since
Nothing in Her Way — 83
they wanted to play winner-take-all—” She smiled
coldly. “Well, they asked for it,” I said.
She turned to face me. “It’s history now, Mike. We’ve
got other things to think about.”
She was always one jump ahead of me. “Such as?” I
asked.
“Lachlan. The big one.”
“Oh,” I said. “But not right now.”
“Why?”
“Right at the moment I’m too happy to hate even
Lachlan. Wait here a minute.” I got out of the car. In
the bar that’s never more than two doors from
she said. “When I came back from Houston I had an
idea they were speeding things up a little. I called the
hotel at Ludley Friday morning, and then called
Houston. And when Charlie wasn’t at either place I
knew our laughing boys had their shoes in their hands
and were headed for the door. I tried to call you, but
you were out. It was too late by then to pick you up, of
course, but with luck I might get them before they
could get away from El Paso. Of course, I could have
just gone to them and demanded our share, but since
Nothing in Her Way — 83
they wanted to play winner-take-all—” She smiled
coldly. “Well, they asked for it,” I said.
She turned to face me. “It’s history now, Mike. We’ve
got other things to think about.”
She was always one jump ahead of me. “Such as?” I
asked.
“Lachlan. The big one.”
“Oh,” I said. “But not right now.”
“Why?”
“Right at the moment I’m too happy to hate even
Lachlan. Wait here a minute.” I got out of the car. In
the bar that’s never more than two doors from
Nothing In Her Way by Charles Williams(4)
Mrs. Goodwin called me the next morning around
seven-thirty. Would I come over and just talk to
Goodwin? He’d been up all night, waiting for a call from
Nothing in Her Way — 63
Caffery, and there hadn’t been any. Maybe I could help
her calm him down before he collapsed.
I went over in a hurry, knowing Charlie’d be there at
eight. Goodwin was on the telephone again, haggard
and hollow-eyed. He had the hotel at Ludley, but
Caffery had checked out. He put the phone back in its
cradle, let out a long, hopeless sigh, and put his head
down in his hands. He was whipped.
I was looking out the window when the mudspattered
car drove up in front of the house. I saw
Charlie get out, and put my hand on Goodwin’s
shoulder. “Say, is this your man?” I nodded toward the
street.
He came alive as if I’d prodded him with a highvoltage
cable. “Hell, yes,” he said excitedly, springing
up. “But you’ll have to get out of sight. We don’t want
to make him any more suspicious than he is now. I’ll
tell you. Go up there at the head of the stairs.”
I made it just as the doorbell rang. By peeking around
the corner of the landing, I could see them. Charlie was
wearing khaki pants and boots and a leather jacket
with mud on it, and he looked as if he hadn’t shaved for
three days or slept a week. His eyes were red, and
there were lines of weariness around his mouth.
Charlie was a perfectionist.
seven-thirty. Would I come over and just talk to
Goodwin? He’d been up all night, waiting for a call from
Nothing in Her Way — 63
Caffery, and there hadn’t been any. Maybe I could help
her calm him down before he collapsed.
I went over in a hurry, knowing Charlie’d be there at
eight. Goodwin was on the telephone again, haggard
and hollow-eyed. He had the hotel at Ludley, but
Caffery had checked out. He put the phone back in its
cradle, let out a long, hopeless sigh, and put his head
down in his hands. He was whipped.
I was looking out the window when the mudspattered
car drove up in front of the house. I saw
Charlie get out, and put my hand on Goodwin’s
shoulder. “Say, is this your man?” I nodded toward the
street.
He came alive as if I’d prodded him with a highvoltage
cable. “Hell, yes,” he said excitedly, springing
up. “But you’ll have to get out of sight. We don’t want
to make him any more suspicious than he is now. I’ll
tell you. Go up there at the head of the stairs.”
I made it just as the doorbell rang. By peeking around
the corner of the landing, I could see them. Charlie was
wearing khaki pants and boots and a leather jacket
with mud on it, and he looked as if he hadn’t shaved for
three days or slept a week. His eyes were red, and
there were lines of weariness around his mouth.
Charlie was a perfectionist.
Nothing In Her Way by Charles Williams(3)
I set him down at the end of one of the work cars. We
were in shadow now, and I looked around again to be
sure no one had seen me. The moonlit plain was empty
except for Donnelly’s car. As I bent down to roll him
under the coupling between two cars he groaned and
tried to sit up.
“What the hell?” he mumbled. Then he looked up.
“Hey, you—”
“Remember me?” I asked, and swung. He didn’t see
the hand.
I massaged my hand and felt it for broken bones, then
got down and rolled him between the rails. I crawled
over the coupling and dragged him out on the other
side. We were between the trains now, in deep shadow.
Remembering the brakie, I squatted down on the
ballast and looked for the lantern. It was far up near
the front end.
I left him lying there and moved along the cars,
looking for an empty. The third boxcar had a door open.
I walked back and got him, letting his feet drag. The
floor of the car was chest high, and I was getting tired
now. I finally got him high enough and rolled him in. I
took a long breath and leaned against the door for a
moment, completely winded.
were in shadow now, and I looked around again to be
sure no one had seen me. The moonlit plain was empty
except for Donnelly’s car. As I bent down to roll him
under the coupling between two cars he groaned and
tried to sit up.
“What the hell?” he mumbled. Then he looked up.
“Hey, you—”
“Remember me?” I asked, and swung. He didn’t see
the hand.
I massaged my hand and felt it for broken bones, then
got down and rolled him between the rails. I crawled
over the coupling and dragged him out on the other
side. We were between the trains now, in deep shadow.
Remembering the brakie, I squatted down on the
ballast and looked for the lantern. It was far up near
the front end.
I left him lying there and moved along the cars,
looking for an empty. The third boxcar had a door open.
I walked back and got him, letting his feet drag. The
floor of the car was chest high, and I was getting tired
now. I finally got him high enough and rolled him in. I
took a long breath and leaned against the door for a
moment, completely winded.
Nothing In Her Way by Charles Williams(2)
Lachlan was the junior member of the firm, both in
years and in seniority. He had been in residence on that
job in Central America, in charge, with a second in
command by the name of Goodwin. Of course, Dunbar
and my father had been there a dozen times or more,
but you can’t see everything, especially when you trust
the man who’s doing the job. And when the dam folded
up like water-soaked cardboard, they flew in in a
chartered plane. Police were waiting for them at the
airport.
Lachlan hadn’t sold any of the reinforcing steel. That
would have been too easy to spot. But with Goodwin in
charge of the concrete work, government inspectors for
sale, and native labor who didn’t know a mix
years and in seniority. He had been in residence on that
job in Central America, in charge, with a second in
command by the name of Goodwin. Of course, Dunbar
and my father had been there a dozen times or more,
but you can’t see everything, especially when you trust
the man who’s doing the job. And when the dam folded
up like water-soaked cardboard, they flew in in a
chartered plane. Police were waiting for them at the
airport.
Lachlan hadn’t sold any of the reinforcing steel. That
would have been too easy to spot. But with Goodwin in
charge of the concrete work, government inspectors for
sale, and native labor who didn’t know a mix
Nothing In Her Way by Charles Williams(1)
One
He looked as if he'd got lost from a conducted tour of
something.
I didn’t pay much attention to him when he came in,
except in the general way you notice there’s somebody
standing next to you in a bar. Unless it develops he’s
dead, or he has fingers growing on his ears, or he tips
your drink over, you probably never see him. He did it
that way, in a manner of speaking. I tipped his drink
over.
I wasn’t in any mood for an opening bid about the
weather. The track had gone from sloppy to heavy
during the afternoon and outside the rain was still
crying into the neon glow of Royal Street. It’d be soup
tomorrow, and unless you tabbed something going to
the post with an outboard motor you’d do just as well
sticking a pin in the program or betting horses with
pretty names. I’d dropped two hundred in the eighth
race when Berber Prince, a beautiful overlay at four to
one, just failed to last by a nose. I was feeling low.
It was one of those dim places, with a black mirror
behind the bar, and while it was doing a good business,
I hadn’t known it was that crowded. I’d just put my
drink down and was reaching for a cigarette when I felt
my elbow bump gently against something, and then I
heard the glass break as it went over the bar. I looked
Nothing in Her Way — 2
He looked as if he'd got lost from a conducted tour of
something.
I didn’t pay much attention to him when he came in,
except in the general way you notice there’s somebody
standing next to you in a bar. Unless it develops he’s
dead, or he has fingers growing on his ears, or he tips
your drink over, you probably never see him. He did it
that way, in a manner of speaking. I tipped his drink
over.
I wasn’t in any mood for an opening bid about the
weather. The track had gone from sloppy to heavy
during the afternoon and outside the rain was still
crying into the neon glow of Royal Street. It’d be soup
tomorrow, and unless you tabbed something going to
the post with an outboard motor you’d do just as well
sticking a pin in the program or betting horses with
pretty names. I’d dropped two hundred in the eighth
race when Berber Prince, a beautiful overlay at four to
one, just failed to last by a nose. I was feeling low.
It was one of those dim places, with a black mirror
behind the bar, and while it was doing a good business,
I hadn’t known it was that crowded. I’d just put my
drink down and was reaching for a cigarette when I felt
my elbow bump gently against something, and then I
heard the glass break as it went over the bar. I looked
Nothing in Her Way — 2
October 14, 2010
Man on The Run by Charles Williams(10)
Fourteen
I opened my eyes. I was lying on a hospital bed in a
small white-painted room. It was daylight. Across
from me a uniformed policeman was seated in a
chair tilted back against the wall, reading a paper.
He glanced up and saw I was awake.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Eleven-thirty,” he said. He went to the door and
spoke to someone just outside it. I couldn’t hear
what he said. He came back and sat down again. I
moved my arms and legs, and everything seemed
to work except that I was sore and stiff and my side
hurt. I felt the right side of my face. It was painful.
I thought of Suzy. They might know what had
happened to her, but I couldn’t even ask. There
was a chance she was still all right, and if I even
mentioned her name it would implicate her. They
knew somebody had been helping me.
“Can I make a telephone call?” I asked the
uniformed man.
I opened my eyes. I was lying on a hospital bed in a
small white-painted room. It was daylight. Across
from me a uniformed policeman was seated in a
chair tilted back against the wall, reading a paper.
He glanced up and saw I was awake.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Eleven-thirty,” he said. He went to the door and
spoke to someone just outside it. I couldn’t hear
what he said. He came back and sat down again. I
moved my arms and legs, and everything seemed
to work except that I was sore and stiff and my side
hurt. I felt the right side of my face. It was painful.
I thought of Suzy. They might know what had
happened to her, but I couldn’t even ask. There
was a chance she was still all right, and if I even
mentioned her name it would implicate her. They
knew somebody had been helping me.
“Can I make a telephone call?” I asked the
uniformed man.
Man on The Run by Charles Williams(9)
It was Pier Five. I could see the pool of light at
the entrance to the shed, and the watchman
leaning back in a chair reading a magazine in front
of his little office just inside the doorway. There
was no way to get on or off the pier without going
past him, but they didn’t require a pass on most of
them. I searched the street in both directions and
was about to hop down from between the cars
when I saw a police car coming from the right. It
stopped at the watchman’s office of the boat repair
yard that was the next pier beyond Five. The men
in it were talking to the watchman. Then it came on
up to Pier Five. They called the watchman out and
talked to him. I began to catch on. They were
looking for me, probably, and giving my description
to the watchmen at all the piers. They passed the
next one, which was not in use, and went on to Pier
Seven where they did the same thing.
It could be something else, of course, but I
couldn’t take a chance on it. I had to stop and tell
the watchman what I wanted and what boat I
wanted to board, and if he had my description the
police would be there before I could even get to the
outer end. I cursed wearily. Now what?
I’d never find a way to do it from here. I went
back to the left for another fifty yards to where the
watchman couldn’t see me crossing the street, and
hurried over when there were no cars in sight. I
stood in the shadows in front of Pier Six and stared
across the slip. Pier Five ran out for some twohundred
feet, with a long T-head at the outer end.
the entrance to the shed, and the watchman
leaning back in a chair reading a magazine in front
of his little office just inside the doorway. There
was no way to get on or off the pier without going
past him, but they didn’t require a pass on most of
them. I searched the street in both directions and
was about to hop down from between the cars
when I saw a police car coming from the right. It
stopped at the watchman’s office of the boat repair
yard that was the next pier beyond Five. The men
in it were talking to the watchman. Then it came on
up to Pier Five. They called the watchman out and
talked to him. I began to catch on. They were
looking for me, probably, and giving my description
to the watchmen at all the piers. They passed the
next one, which was not in use, and went on to Pier
Seven where they did the same thing.
It could be something else, of course, but I
couldn’t take a chance on it. I had to stop and tell
the watchman what I wanted and what boat I
wanted to board, and if he had my description the
police would be there before I could even get to the
outer end. I cursed wearily. Now what?
I’d never find a way to do it from here. I went
back to the left for another fifty yards to where the
watchman couldn’t see me crossing the street, and
hurried over when there were no cars in sight. I
stood in the shadows in front of Pier Six and stared
across the slip. Pier Five ran out for some twohundred
feet, with a long T-head at the outer end.
Man on The Run by Charles Williams(8)
The dresser held not a scrap of paper of any kind.
I even felt under the bottoms of the drawers the
way they did in movies. Letters, letters—now where
the hell would she keep old letters? I straightened
and started to turn, looking futilely around the
room. My gaze stopped suddenly and backed up
and I gasped, feeling my scalp tingle.
The door of the bathroom was partly open, and
from this side of the room I could see in past the
edge of it. The light was poor, but there was no
doubt that what I saw was the sloping end of. an
old-fashioned bathtub, and hanging inertly from the
edge of it a slender and very shapely leg. I reached
the door in two strides, pushed it open, and
snapped on the light. When I looked down into the
tub I had to fight to keep from being sick.
She was lying on her back with her eyes open,
staring up at me through about six inches of water
with the long black hair floating around her face.
Her head was almost under the spigots, one of
which was dripping intermittently and shattering
Man on The Run — 122
I even felt under the bottoms of the drawers the
way they did in movies. Letters, letters—now where
the hell would she keep old letters? I straightened
and started to turn, looking futilely around the
room. My gaze stopped suddenly and backed up
and I gasped, feeling my scalp tingle.
The door of the bathroom was partly open, and
from this side of the room I could see in past the
edge of it. The light was poor, but there was no
doubt that what I saw was the sloping end of. an
old-fashioned bathtub, and hanging inertly from the
edge of it a slender and very shapely leg. I reached
the door in two strides, pushed it open, and
snapped on the light. When I looked down into the
tub I had to fight to keep from being sick.
She was lying on her back with her eyes open,
staring up at me through about six inches of water
with the long black hair floating around her face.
Her head was almost under the spigots, one of
which was dripping intermittently and shattering
Man on The Run — 122
Man on The Run by Charles Williams(7)
“Go ahead. But when you get through I want you
to listen to me for a minute. Okay?”
“Right,” I said. I told him about trying to follow
Frances Celaya home and what had happened. “So
she saw me in Stedman’s apartment that night,” I
finished. “That’s the only way in the world she
could have recognized me. She knew I was after
her, and she tried to kill me.”
“But did you see her in the apartment?”
“No. I didn’t see anybody. Except Stedman.”
“Then what put you on her trail?”
”I can’t tell you that,” I said. “It involves a friend
of mine.”
“Your story doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know it doesn’t. I’m just telling you what
happened. I don’t know anything about her at all,
or why she’d want to kill Stedman. I can’t tell you
who that big goon is, or even what he looks like,
because it was too dark. But I’m pretty sure he’s a
seaman or used to be one.”
“Why?”
“When he was telling the girl to watch me, he
said if I came around, to sing out. Sing out is a
seagoing expression, and one of the few that
sailors ever use ashore. And that thing I hit him
with was a fid.”
“What’s a fid?”
“It’s a heavy wooden spike, pointed at one end
and rounded on the other, and it’s used in splicing
line. So he might be working ashore as a rigger, or
on small boats of some kind.”
“All right,” he said brusquely. “Now I want to
give you some advice, Foley. I don’t think you
realize the dangerous spot you’re in, so let me spell
it out for you. It’s probably the luck of the stupid
Irish, but you’ve been fouling up the police force of
a whole city for a week. There are several hundred
to listen to me for a minute. Okay?”
“Right,” I said. I told him about trying to follow
Frances Celaya home and what had happened. “So
she saw me in Stedman’s apartment that night,” I
finished. “That’s the only way in the world she
could have recognized me. She knew I was after
her, and she tried to kill me.”
“But did you see her in the apartment?”
“No. I didn’t see anybody. Except Stedman.”
“Then what put you on her trail?”
”I can’t tell you that,” I said. “It involves a friend
of mine.”
“Your story doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know it doesn’t. I’m just telling you what
happened. I don’t know anything about her at all,
or why she’d want to kill Stedman. I can’t tell you
who that big goon is, or even what he looks like,
because it was too dark. But I’m pretty sure he’s a
seaman or used to be one.”
“Why?”
“When he was telling the girl to watch me, he
said if I came around, to sing out. Sing out is a
seagoing expression, and one of the few that
sailors ever use ashore. And that thing I hit him
with was a fid.”
“What’s a fid?”
“It’s a heavy wooden spike, pointed at one end
and rounded on the other, and it’s used in splicing
line. So he might be working ashore as a rigger, or
on small boats of some kind.”
“All right,” he said brusquely. “Now I want to
give you some advice, Foley. I don’t think you
realize the dangerous spot you’re in, so let me spell
it out for you. It’s probably the luck of the stupid
Irish, but you’ve been fouling up the police force of
a whole city for a week. There are several hundred
Man on The Run by Charles Williams(6)
She boarded a Montlake bus, the number seven
line. Two more passengers got on after her, and
then I climbed aboard. She had found a seat and
opened the magazine and didn’t look up as I went
past. I went on to the rear and sat down.
I opened the paper and pretended to read,
keeping my face down. The bus turned north along
a heavily traveled arterial. We passed a district of
apartment houses. Several passengers got off. She
went on reading. After awhile the bus swung off
onto quieter streets and we went past a large
housing development. At every stop one or two
passengers debarked. Soon there were only five of
us left. I wondered why she lived so far out; we
must be miles from downtown. Then she put the
magazine away and started watching the stops.
“Stevens,” the driver called out. She gathered up
her things and came back to the rear door. The bus
stopped and she got down. The door closed, but
just before we got under way again I glanced up
suddenly from my paper and asked, “This
Stevens?”
“That’s right,” the driver said. I grabbed the
briefcase and got off. The bus went on. I took out a
cigarette and stood momentarily on the corner as I
lighted it. It was a run-down district of older frame
houses. Diagonally across the intersection a service
station was a glaring oasis of light, but there were
few cars on the street. She crossed the intersection
and turned right opposite the service station, going
up the sidewalk under the trees on the far side. As
Man on The Run — 87
line. Two more passengers got on after her, and
then I climbed aboard. She had found a seat and
opened the magazine and didn’t look up as I went
past. I went on to the rear and sat down.
I opened the paper and pretended to read,
keeping my face down. The bus turned north along
a heavily traveled arterial. We passed a district of
apartment houses. Several passengers got off. She
went on reading. After awhile the bus swung off
onto quieter streets and we went past a large
housing development. At every stop one or two
passengers debarked. Soon there were only five of
us left. I wondered why she lived so far out; we
must be miles from downtown. Then she put the
magazine away and started watching the stops.
“Stevens,” the driver called out. She gathered up
her things and came back to the rear door. The bus
stopped and she got down. The door closed, but
just before we got under way again I glanced up
suddenly from my paper and asked, “This
Stevens?”
“That’s right,” the driver said. I grabbed the
briefcase and got off. The bus went on. I took out a
cigarette and stood momentarily on the corner as I
lighted it. It was a run-down district of older frame
houses. Diagonally across the intersection a service
station was a glaring oasis of light, but there were
few cars on the street. She crossed the intersection
and turned right opposite the service station, going
up the sidewalk under the trees on the far side. As
Man on The Run — 87
Man on The Run by Charles Williams(5)
inside when she heard Mrs. Purcell scream and
then run out of the house.
“The police were there within minutes. Purcell
was slumped over his desk in the living room, shot
through the temple with his own thirty-eight. The
shoulder holster was where he always left it when
he came home, hanging on a hook in the hall
closet. The gun was lying on the rug beside his
chair. They could get only partial prints off it, but
they were all his. There was no sign of a struggle at
all, and nothing to indicate anybody else had been
there. The gate to the backyard was locked, and
nobody in the block had seen anyone come or go
from the front of the house. It couldn’t have been
an accident, because all his gun-cleaning
equipment was put away in the kitchen. There was
no note, but on the desk just under his face was a
single sheet of white paper and a ballpoint pen, as
if he’d started to write one and then changed his
mind.”
It was baffling. “What do you think?” I asked.
“That he was murdered.”
“Why?”
then run out of the house.
“The police were there within minutes. Purcell
was slumped over his desk in the living room, shot
through the temple with his own thirty-eight. The
shoulder holster was where he always left it when
he came home, hanging on a hook in the hall
closet. The gun was lying on the rug beside his
chair. They could get only partial prints off it, but
they were all his. There was no sign of a struggle at
all, and nothing to indicate anybody else had been
there. The gate to the backyard was locked, and
nobody in the block had seen anyone come or go
from the front of the house. It couldn’t have been
an accident, because all his gun-cleaning
equipment was put away in the kitchen. There was
no note, but on the desk just under his face was a
single sheet of white paper and a ballpoint pen, as
if he’d started to write one and then changed his
mind.”
It was baffling. “What do you think?” I asked.
“That he was murdered.”
“Why?”
Man on The Run by Charles Williams(4)
”Shove it, you shanty-Irish pig,” I said, and
dropped the phone, receiver and all, into the sink.
The broken end of the cord still dangled over the
edge. It didn’t look neat at all so I coiled it very
carefully, and shoved it down into the water along
with the rest of the instrument. I turned and
walked out without looking back.
Sleet pattered on my hat brim and tapped on my
face. I broke into a run, and just before I turned the
corner I looked over my shoulder. The bartender
and one of the men were standing in the doorway
to see which way I went. By the time I’d run
another block I heard the sirens.
I went on, feeling my feet lift and swing and
pound against the concrete until every breath was
agony. I turned and turned again and lost all sense
of direction. I saw headlights approaching down an
intersecting street. The car started to turn toward
me, and just before the headlights swept over me I
dived sideways into an oleander hedge. I fell
through it, and lay in a puddle of water with the
sleet tapping restfully on my hat and the side of my
face. My arm was against something metallic and
uncomfortable. I reached over and felt it with my
other hand. It was a lawn sprinkler. I thought
drowsily it would be a shame if they turned it on.
More cars went up the street, swinging
spotlights.
dropped the phone, receiver and all, into the sink.
The broken end of the cord still dangled over the
edge. It didn’t look neat at all so I coiled it very
carefully, and shoved it down into the water along
with the rest of the instrument. I turned and
walked out without looking back.
Sleet pattered on my hat brim and tapped on my
face. I broke into a run, and just before I turned the
corner I looked over my shoulder. The bartender
and one of the men were standing in the doorway
to see which way I went. By the time I’d run
another block I heard the sirens.
I went on, feeling my feet lift and swing and
pound against the concrete until every breath was
agony. I turned and turned again and lost all sense
of direction. I saw headlights approaching down an
intersecting street. The car started to turn toward
me, and just before the headlights swept over me I
dived sideways into an oleander hedge. I fell
through it, and lay in a puddle of water with the
sleet tapping restfully on my hat and the side of my
face. My arm was against something metallic and
uncomfortable. I reached over and felt it with my
other hand. It was a lawn sprinkler. I thought
drowsily it would be a shame if they turned it on.
More cars went up the street, swinging
spotlights.
Man on The Run by Charles Williams(3)
I tried to guess where she was taking me, and
why, but gave up. She’d said back to Sanport, and
if I’d guessed all the turns correctly, that was the
direction we were headed now, but what part of
town she meant and what she was up to were a
complete mystery. I tried to guess what time it
was, and thought it must be after six. It was
probably dark outside, judging from the
impenetrable blackness here in the trunk. I could
move a little, and there seemed to be plenty of air.
I listened to the high whine of tires on wet
pavement and hoped she was a good driver. Locked
in the trunk of a flaming wreck would be a horrible
way to die. Then I wondered if I didn’t have enough
to worry about now, without borrowing more.
Man on The Run — 35
After what could have been anywhere from half
an hour to an hour she slowed and made another
turn. The sounds changed. There weren’t nearly as
many cars hurtling past in the other direction. They
dwindled until we seemed to be almost alone on
the road, and then the road itself was different.
why, but gave up. She’d said back to Sanport, and
if I’d guessed all the turns correctly, that was the
direction we were headed now, but what part of
town she meant and what she was up to were a
complete mystery. I tried to guess what time it
was, and thought it must be after six. It was
probably dark outside, judging from the
impenetrable blackness here in the trunk. I could
move a little, and there seemed to be plenty of air.
I listened to the high whine of tires on wet
pavement and hoped she was a good driver. Locked
in the trunk of a flaming wreck would be a horrible
way to die. Then I wondered if I didn’t have enough
to worry about now, without borrowing more.
Man on The Run — 35
After what could have been anywhere from half
an hour to an hour she slowed and made another
turn. The sounds changed. There weren’t nearly as
many cars hurtling past in the other direction. They
dwindled until we seemed to be almost alone on
the road, and then the road itself was different.
Man on The Run by Charles Williams(2)
Man on The Run — 16
She’d probably been hit by that door when it
slammed shut. Then I remembered the way she’d
weaved as she got back in the car the first time,
and bent down to sniff her breath. At least part of
Suzy Patton’s trouble—if this was Suzy Patton—
was that she was crocked to the teeth. I didn’t
know how carbon monoxide and alcohol mixed in
the human system, but I had a hunch she was
going to be a very sick girl in a few minutes. I
slipped off the high-heeled sling pumps and kicked
open the bathroom door. She began to retch. I halfled
and half-carried her and held her up. When she
was through being sick, I wet a wash cloth at the
basin and bathed her face while she leaned weakly
against the bathroom wall with her eyes closed.
She didn’t open them until she was back on the
bed. She took one look at me and said, “Oh, good
God!” and closed them again. She made a feeble
attempt to pull her skirt down. I straightened it for
her, and she lay still. I went out in the living room
and lighted a cigarette. I could handle her all right,
but if the police came by again and noticed those
garage doors were unlocked, I was dead. I looked
at my watch. It would be at least three more hours
before it was dark.
I stood in the doorway and looked at her. She
was a big girl and a striking one, with blonde hair
almost as white as cotton. Close to five-nine, I
thought. Probably thirty to thirty-three years old.
She’d probably been hit by that door when it
slammed shut. Then I remembered the way she’d
weaved as she got back in the car the first time,
and bent down to sniff her breath. At least part of
Suzy Patton’s trouble—if this was Suzy Patton—
was that she was crocked to the teeth. I didn’t
know how carbon monoxide and alcohol mixed in
the human system, but I had a hunch she was
going to be a very sick girl in a few minutes. I
slipped off the high-heeled sling pumps and kicked
open the bathroom door. She began to retch. I halfled
and half-carried her and held her up. When she
was through being sick, I wet a wash cloth at the
basin and bathed her face while she leaned weakly
against the bathroom wall with her eyes closed.
She didn’t open them until she was back on the
bed. She took one look at me and said, “Oh, good
God!” and closed them again. She made a feeble
attempt to pull her skirt down. I straightened it for
her, and she lay still. I went out in the living room
and lighted a cigarette. I could handle her all right,
but if the police came by again and noticed those
garage doors were unlocked, I was dead. I looked
at my watch. It would be at least three more hours
before it was dark.
I stood in the doorway and looked at her. She
was a big girl and a striking one, with blonde hair
almost as white as cotton. Close to five-nine, I
thought. Probably thirty to thirty-three years old.
Man on The Run by Charles Williams(1)
One
Couplings banged together up ahead. We were
slowing. I stood up in the swaying gondola and
looked forward along the right side of the train.
Pinpoints of light showed wetly in the distance. We
continued to lose speed.
Then just before we reached the station, the
block changed from red to green, the drawbars
jerked, and the beat of the wheels began to climb. I
cursed. I had to get off and it had to be now;
daybreak couldn’t be far away. I went over the
right side, groping for the ladder. When I had a
foot on the last rung I leaned out and jumped,
pumping my legs. I landed awkwardly, fell, and
rolled.
When I stopped I was lying face down in the mud.
I raised my head and turned a little so I could
breathe, and rested, wondering if I had broken
anything. Wheels and trucks roared past, and then
the train was gone. I sat up. My legs and arms
seemed to be all right. Less than a hundred yards
away, on the other side of the track, was the
station, a darker shadow in the night with a single
cone of light at this end illuminating the sign.
Couplings banged together up ahead. We were
slowing. I stood up in the swaying gondola and
looked forward along the right side of the train.
Pinpoints of light showed wetly in the distance. We
continued to lose speed.
Then just before we reached the station, the
block changed from red to green, the drawbars
jerked, and the beat of the wheels began to climb. I
cursed. I had to get off and it had to be now;
daybreak couldn’t be far away. I went over the
right side, groping for the ladder. When I had a
foot on the last rung I leaned out and jumped,
pumping my legs. I landed awkwardly, fell, and
rolled.
When I stopped I was lying face down in the mud.
I raised my head and turned a little so I could
breathe, and rested, wondering if I had broken
anything. Wheels and trucks roared past, and then
the train was gone. I sat up. My legs and arms
seemed to be all right. Less than a hundred yards
away, on the other side of the track, was the
station, a darker shadow in the night with a single
cone of light at this end illuminating the sign.
October 11, 2010
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens(19)
Mr. Cruncher?’
‘Respectin’ a future spear o’ life, miss,’ returned Mr.
Cruncher, ‘I hope so. Respectin’ any present use o’ this
here blessed old head o’ mind, I think not. Would you do
me the favour, miss, to take notice o’ two promises and
wows wot it is my wishes fur to record in this here crisis?’
‘Oh, for gracious sake!’ cried Miss Pross, still wildly
crying, ‘record them at once, and get them out of the
way, like an excellent man.’
‘First,’ said Mr. Cruncher, who was all in a tremble,
and who spoke with an ashy and solemn visage, ‘them
poor things well out o’ this, never no more will I do it,
never no more!’
‘I am quite sure, Mr. Cruncher,’ returned Miss Pross,
‘that you never will do it again, whatever it is, and I beg
you not to think it necessary to mention more particularly
what it is.’
‘Respectin’ a future spear o’ life, miss,’ returned Mr.
Cruncher, ‘I hope so. Respectin’ any present use o’ this
here blessed old head o’ mind, I think not. Would you do
me the favour, miss, to take notice o’ two promises and
wows wot it is my wishes fur to record in this here crisis?’
‘Oh, for gracious sake!’ cried Miss Pross, still wildly
crying, ‘record them at once, and get them out of the
way, like an excellent man.’
‘First,’ said Mr. Cruncher, who was all in a tremble,
and who spoke with an ashy and solemn visage, ‘them
poor things well out o’ this, never no more will I do it,
never no more!’
‘I am quite sure, Mr. Cruncher,’ returned Miss Pross,
‘that you never will do it again, whatever it is, and I beg
you not to think it necessary to mention more particularly
what it is.’
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens(18)
that no personal influence could possibly save him, that he
was virtually sentenced by the millions, and that units
could avail him nothing.
Nevertheless, it was not easy, with the face of his
beloved wife fresh before him, to compose his mind to
what it must bear. His hold on life was strong, and it was
very, very hard, to loosen; by gradual efforts and degrees
unclosed a little here, it clenched the tighter there; and
when he brought his strength to bear on that hand and it
yielded, this was closed again. There was a hurry, too, in
all his thoughts, a turbulent and heated working of his
heart, that contended against resignation. If, for a moment,
he did feel resigned, then his wife and child who had to
live after him, seemed to protest and to make it a selfish
thing.
But, all this was at first. Before long, the consideration
that there was no disgrace in the fate he must meet, and
that numbers went the same road wrongfully, and trod it
firmly every day, sprang up to stimulate him. Next
followed the thought that much of the future peace of
mind enjoyable by the dear ones, depended on his quiet
fortitude. So, by degrees he calmed into the better state,
when he could raise his thoughts much higher, and draw
comfort down.
was virtually sentenced by the millions, and that units
could avail him nothing.
Nevertheless, it was not easy, with the face of his
beloved wife fresh before him, to compose his mind to
what it must bear. His hold on life was strong, and it was
very, very hard, to loosen; by gradual efforts and degrees
unclosed a little here, it clenched the tighter there; and
when he brought his strength to bear on that hand and it
yielded, this was closed again. There was a hurry, too, in
all his thoughts, a turbulent and heated working of his
heart, that contended against resignation. If, for a moment,
he did feel resigned, then his wife and child who had to
live after him, seemed to protest and to make it a selfish
thing.
But, all this was at first. Before long, the consideration
that there was no disgrace in the fate he must meet, and
that numbers went the same road wrongfully, and trod it
firmly every day, sprang up to stimulate him. Next
followed the thought that much of the future peace of
mind enjoyable by the dear ones, depended on his quiet
fortitude. So, by degrees he calmed into the better state,
when he could raise his thoughts much higher, and draw
comfort down.
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens(17)
‘This lasted twenty-six hours from the time when I first
saw her. I had come and gone twice, and was again sitting
by her, when she began to falter. I did what little could be
done to assist that opportunity, and by-and-bye she sank
into a lethargy, and lay like the dead.
‘It was as if the wind and rain had lulled at last, after a
long and fearful storm. I released her arms, and called the
woman to assist me to compose her figure and the dress
she had to. It was then that I knew her condition to be
that of one in whom the first expectations of being a
mother have arisen; and it was then that I lost the little
hope I had had of her.
‘‘Is she dead?’ asked the Marquis, whom I will still
describe as the elder brother, coming booted into the
room from his horse.
‘‘Not dead,’ said I; ‘but like to die.’
‘‘What strength there is in these common bodies!’ he
said, looking down at her with some curiosity.
‘‘There is prodigious strength,’ I answered him, ‘in
sorrow and despair.’
saw her. I had come and gone twice, and was again sitting
by her, when she began to falter. I did what little could be
done to assist that opportunity, and by-and-bye she sank
into a lethargy, and lay like the dead.
‘It was as if the wind and rain had lulled at last, after a
long and fearful storm. I released her arms, and called the
woman to assist me to compose her figure and the dress
she had to. It was then that I knew her condition to be
that of one in whom the first expectations of being a
mother have arisen; and it was then that I lost the little
hope I had had of her.
‘‘Is she dead?’ asked the Marquis, whom I will still
describe as the elder brother, coming booted into the
room from his horse.
‘‘Not dead,’ said I; ‘but like to die.’
‘‘What strength there is in these common bodies!’ he
said, looking down at her with some curiosity.
‘‘There is prodigious strength,’ I answered him, ‘in
sorrow and despair.’
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens(16)
A Tale of Two Cities
547 of 670
Mr. Cruncher knuckled his forehead, as Sydney Carton
and the spy returned from the dark room. ‘Adieu, Mr.
Barsad,’ said the former; ‘our arrangement thus made, you
have nothing to fear from me.’
He sat down in a chair on the hearth, over against Mr.
Lorry. When they were alone, Mr. Lorry asked him what
he had done?
‘Not much. If it should go ill with the prisoner, I have
ensured access to him, once.’
Mr. Lorry’s countenance fell.
‘It is all I could do,’ said Carton. ‘To propose too
much, would be to put this man’s head under the axe,
and, as he himself said, nothing worse could happen to
him if he were denounced. It was obviously the weakness
of the position. There is no help for it.’
‘But access to him,’ said Mr. Lorry, ‘if it should go ill
before the Tribunal, will not save him.’
‘I never said it would.’
Mr. Lorry’s eyes gradually sought the fire; his sympathy
with his darling, and the heavy disappointment of his
second arrest, gradually weakened them; he was an old
man now, overborne with anxiety of late, and his tears
fell.
547 of 670
Mr. Cruncher knuckled his forehead, as Sydney Carton
and the spy returned from the dark room. ‘Adieu, Mr.
Barsad,’ said the former; ‘our arrangement thus made, you
have nothing to fear from me.’
He sat down in a chair on the hearth, over against Mr.
Lorry. When they were alone, Mr. Lorry asked him what
he had done?
‘Not much. If it should go ill with the prisoner, I have
ensured access to him, once.’
Mr. Lorry’s countenance fell.
‘It is all I could do,’ said Carton. ‘To propose too
much, would be to put this man’s head under the axe,
and, as he himself said, nothing worse could happen to
him if he were denounced. It was obviously the weakness
of the position. There is no help for it.’
‘But access to him,’ said Mr. Lorry, ‘if it should go ill
before the Tribunal, will not save him.’
‘I never said it would.’
Mr. Lorry’s eyes gradually sought the fire; his sympathy
with his darling, and the heavy disappointment of his
second arrest, gradually weakened them; he was an old
man now, overborne with anxiety of late, and his tears
fell.
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens(15)
Her father, cheering her, showed a compassionate
superiority to this woman’s weakness, which was
wonderful to see. No garret, no shoemaking, no One
A Tale of Two Cities
511 of 670
Hundred and Five, North Tower, now! He had
accomplished the task he had set himself, his promise was
redeemed, he had saved Charles. Let them all lean upon
him.
Their housekeeping was of a very frugal kind: not only
because that was the safest way of life, involving the least
offence to the people, but because they were not rich, and
Charles, throughout his imprisonment, had had to pay
heavily for his bad food, and for his guard, and towards the
living of the poorer prisoners. Partly on this account, and
partly to avoid a domestic spy, they kept no servant;
superiority to this woman’s weakness, which was
wonderful to see. No garret, no shoemaking, no One
A Tale of Two Cities
511 of 670
Hundred and Five, North Tower, now! He had
accomplished the task he had set himself, his promise was
redeemed, he had saved Charles. Let them all lean upon
him.
Their housekeeping was of a very frugal kind: not only
because that was the safest way of life, involving the least
offence to the people, but because they were not rich, and
Charles, throughout his imprisonment, had had to pay
heavily for his bad food, and for his guard, and towards the
living of the poorer prisoners. Partly on this account, and
partly to avoid a domestic spy, they kept no servant;
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens(14)
released, or (in a few cases) to be sent back to their cells.
That, presented by his conductors to this Tribunal, he had
announced himself by name and profession as having been
for eighteen years a secret and unaccused prisoner in the
Bastille; that, one of the body so sitting in judgment had
risen and identified him, and that this man was Defarge.
That, hereupon he had ascertained, through the
registers on the table, that his son-in-law was among the
living prisoners, and had pleaded hard to the Tribunal—of
whom some members were asleep and some awake, some
dirty with murder and some clean, some sober and some
not—for his life and liberty. That, in the first frantic
greetings lavished on himself as a notable sufferer under
the overthrown system, it had been accorded to him to
have Charles Darnay brought before the lawless Court,
and examined. That, he seemed on the point of being at
once released, when the tide in his favour met with some
unexplained check (not intelligible to the Doctor), which
led to a few words of secret conference. That, the man
sitting as President had then informed Doctor Manette
that the prisoner must remain in custody, but should, for
his sake, be held inviolate in safe custody. That,
immediately, on a signal, the prisoner was removed to the
interior of the prison again; but, that he, the Doctor, had
A Tale of Two Cities
479 of 670
then so strongly pleaded for permission to remain and
assure himself that his son-in-law was, through no malice
or mischance, delivered to the concourse whose
That, presented by his conductors to this Tribunal, he had
announced himself by name and profession as having been
for eighteen years a secret and unaccused prisoner in the
Bastille; that, one of the body so sitting in judgment had
risen and identified him, and that this man was Defarge.
That, hereupon he had ascertained, through the
registers on the table, that his son-in-law was among the
living prisoners, and had pleaded hard to the Tribunal—of
whom some members were asleep and some awake, some
dirty with murder and some clean, some sober and some
not—for his life and liberty. That, in the first frantic
greetings lavished on himself as a notable sufferer under
the overthrown system, it had been accorded to him to
have Charles Darnay brought before the lawless Court,
and examined. That, he seemed on the point of being at
once released, when the tide in his favour met with some
unexplained check (not intelligible to the Doctor), which
led to a few words of secret conference. That, the man
sitting as President had then informed Doctor Manette
that the prisoner must remain in custody, but should, for
his sake, be held inviolate in safe custody. That,
immediately, on a signal, the prisoner was removed to the
interior of the prison again; but, that he, the Doctor, had
A Tale of Two Cities
479 of 670
then so strongly pleaded for permission to remain and
assure himself that his son-in-law was, through no malice
or mischance, delivered to the concourse whose
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens(13)
sat upon their horses outside the gate. Looking about him
while in this state of suspense, Charles Darnay observed
that the gate was held by a mixed guard of soldiers and
patriots, the latter far outnumbering the former; and that
while ingress into the city for peasants’ carts bringing in
supplies, and for similar traffic and traffickers, was easy
enough, egress, even for the homeliest people, was very
difficult. A numerous medley of men and women, not to
mention beasts and vehicles of various sorts, was waiting
to issue forth; but, the previous identification was so strict,
that they filtered through the barrier very slowly. Some of
these people knew their turn for examination to be so far
off, that they lay down on the ground to sleep or smoke,
while others talked together, or loitered about. The red
cap and tri-colour cockade were universal, both among
men and women.
When he had sat in his saddle some half-hour, taking
note of these things, Darnay found himself confronted by
the same man in authority, who directed the guard to
open the barrier. Then he delivered to the escort, drunk
and sober, a receipt for the escorted, and requested him to
dismount. He did so, and the two patriots, leading his
tired horse, turned and rode away without entering the
city.
while in this state of suspense, Charles Darnay observed
that the gate was held by a mixed guard of soldiers and
patriots, the latter far outnumbering the former; and that
while ingress into the city for peasants’ carts bringing in
supplies, and for similar traffic and traffickers, was easy
enough, egress, even for the homeliest people, was very
difficult. A numerous medley of men and women, not to
mention beasts and vehicles of various sorts, was waiting
to issue forth; but, the previous identification was so strict,
that they filtered through the barrier very slowly. Some of
these people knew their turn for examination to be so far
off, that they lay down on the ground to sleep or smoke,
while others talked together, or loitered about. The red
cap and tri-colour cockade were universal, both among
men and women.
When he had sat in his saddle some half-hour, taking
note of these things, Darnay found himself confronted by
the same man in authority, who directed the guard to
open the barrier. Then he delivered to the escort, drunk
and sober, a receipt for the escorted, and requested him to
dismount. He did so, and the two patriots, leading his
tired horse, turned and rode away without entering the
city.
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens(12)
and windows were. Then it soared higher, and grew
broader and brighter. Soon, from a score of the great
windows, flames burst forth, and the stone faces
awakened, stared out of fire.
A faint murmur arose about the house from the few
people who were left there, and there was a saddling of a
horse and riding away. There was spurring and splashing
through the darkness, and bridle was drawn in the space
by the village fountain, and the horse in a foam stood at
Monsieur Gabelle’s door. ‘Help, Gabelle! Help, every
one!’ The tocsin rang impatiently, but other help (if that
were any) there was none. The mender of roads, and two
hundred and fifty particular friends, stood with folded arms
at the fountain, looking at the pillar of fire in the sky. ‘It
must be forty feet high,’ said they, grimly; and never
moved.
The rider from the chateau, and the horse in a foam,
clattered away through the village, and galloped up the
stony steep, to the prison on the crag. At the gate, a group
of officers were looking at the fire; removed from them, a
group of soldiers. ‘Help, gentlemen— officers! The
chateau is on fire; valuable objects may be saved from the
flames by timely aid! Help, help!’ The officers looked
towards the soldiers who looked at the fire; gave no
broader and brighter. Soon, from a score of the great
windows, flames burst forth, and the stone faces
awakened, stared out of fire.
A faint murmur arose about the house from the few
people who were left there, and there was a saddling of a
horse and riding away. There was spurring and splashing
through the darkness, and bridle was drawn in the space
by the village fountain, and the horse in a foam stood at
Monsieur Gabelle’s door. ‘Help, Gabelle! Help, every
one!’ The tocsin rang impatiently, but other help (if that
were any) there was none. The mender of roads, and two
hundred and fifty particular friends, stood with folded arms
at the fountain, looking at the pillar of fire in the sky. ‘It
must be forty feet high,’ said they, grimly; and never
moved.
The rider from the chateau, and the horse in a foam,
clattered away through the village, and galloped up the
stony steep, to the prison on the crag. At the gate, a group
of officers were looking at the fire; removed from them, a
group of soldiers. ‘Help, gentlemen— officers! The
chateau is on fire; valuable objects may be saved from the
flames by timely aid! Help, help!’ The officers looked
towards the soldiers who looked at the fire; gave no
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens(11)
These three young gentlemen, Mr. Stryver, exuding
patronage of the most offensive quality from every pore,
had walked before him like three sheep to the quiet corner
in Soho, and had offered as pupils to Lucie’s husband:
delicately saying ‘Halloa! here are three lumps of breadand-
cheese towards your matrimonial picnic, Darnay!’
The polite rejection of the three lumps of bread-andcheese
had quite bloated Mr. Stryver with indignation,
which he afterwards turned to account in the training of
the young gentlemen, by directing them to beware of the
pride of Beggars, like that tutor-fellow. He was also in the
habit of declaiming to Mrs. Stryver, over his full-bodied
wine, on the arts Mrs. Darnay had once put in practice to
‘catch’ him, and on the diamond-cut-diamond arts in
himself, madam, which had rendered him ‘not to be
caught.’ Some of his King’s Bench familiars, who were
occasionally parties to the full-bodied wine and the lie,
excused him for the latter by saying that he had told it so
often, that he believed it himself—which is surely such an
incorrigible aggravation of an originally bad offence, as to
justify any such offender’s being carried off to some
suitably retired spot, and there hanged out of the way.
These were among the echoes to which Lucie,
patronage of the most offensive quality from every pore,
had walked before him like three sheep to the quiet corner
in Soho, and had offered as pupils to Lucie’s husband:
delicately saying ‘Halloa! here are three lumps of breadand-
cheese towards your matrimonial picnic, Darnay!’
The polite rejection of the three lumps of bread-andcheese
had quite bloated Mr. Stryver with indignation,
which he afterwards turned to account in the training of
the young gentlemen, by directing them to beware of the
pride of Beggars, like that tutor-fellow. He was also in the
habit of declaiming to Mrs. Stryver, over his full-bodied
wine, on the arts Mrs. Darnay had once put in practice to
‘catch’ him, and on the diamond-cut-diamond arts in
himself, madam, which had rendered him ‘not to be
caught.’ Some of his King’s Bench familiars, who were
occasionally parties to the full-bodied wine and the lie,
excused him for the latter by saying that he had told it so
often, that he believed it himself—which is surely such an
incorrigible aggravation of an originally bad offence, as to
justify any such offender’s being carried off to some
suitably retired spot, and there hanged out of the way.
These were among the echoes to which Lucie,
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens(10)
For a moment, he held the fair face from him to look
at the well-remembered expression on the forehead, and
then laid the bright golden hair against his little brown
wig, with a genuine tenderness and delicacy which, if such
things be old-fashioned, were as old as Adam.
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The door of the Doctor’s room opened, and he came
out with Charles Darnay. He was so deadly pale—which
had not been the case when they went in together—that
no vestige of colour was to be seen in his face. But, in the
composure of his manner he was unaltered, except that to
the shrewd glance of Mr. Lorry it disclosed some shadowy
indication that the old air of avoidance and dread had
lately passed over him, like a cold wind.
He gave his arm to his daughter, and took her downstairs
to the chariot which Mr. Lorry had hired in honour
of the day. The rest followed in another carriage, and
soon, in a neighbouring church, where no strange eyes
looked on, Charles Darnay and Lucie Manette were
happily married.
Besides the glancing tears that shone among the smiles
of the little group when it was done, some diamonds, very
bright and sparkling, glanced on the bride’s hand, which
were newly released from the dark obscurity of one of Mr.
Lorry’s pockets.
at the well-remembered expression on the forehead, and
then laid the bright golden hair against his little brown
wig, with a genuine tenderness and delicacy which, if such
things be old-fashioned, were as old as Adam.
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The door of the Doctor’s room opened, and he came
out with Charles Darnay. He was so deadly pale—which
had not been the case when they went in together—that
no vestige of colour was to be seen in his face. But, in the
composure of his manner he was unaltered, except that to
the shrewd glance of Mr. Lorry it disclosed some shadowy
indication that the old air of avoidance and dread had
lately passed over him, like a cold wind.
He gave his arm to his daughter, and took her downstairs
to the chariot which Mr. Lorry had hired in honour
of the day. The rest followed in another carriage, and
soon, in a neighbouring church, where no strange eyes
looked on, Charles Darnay and Lucie Manette were
happily married.
Besides the glancing tears that shone among the smiles
of the little group when it was done, some diamonds, very
bright and sparkling, glanced on the bride’s hand, which
were newly released from the dark obscurity of one of Mr.
Lorry’s pockets.
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens(9)
‘For instance—‘
‘For instance,’ returned Madame Defarge, composedly,
‘shrouds.’
The man moved a little further away, as soon as he
could, and the mender of roads fanned himself with his
blue cap: feeling it mightily close and oppressive. If he
needed a King and Queen to restore him, he was
fortunate in having his remedy at hand; for, soon the
large-faced King and the fair-faced Queen came in their
golden coach, attended by the shining Bull’s Eye of their
Court, a glittering multitude of laughing ladies and fine
lords; and in jewels and silks and powder and splendour
and elegantly spurning figures and handsomely disdainful
faces of both sexes, the mender of roads bathed himself, so
much to his temporary intoxication, that he cried Long
live the King, Long live the Queen, Long live everybody
and everything! as if he had never heard of ubiquitous
Jacques in his time. Then, there were gardens, courtyards,
terraces, fountains, green banks, more King and Queen,
more Bull’s Eye,more lords and ladies, more Long live
they all! until he absolutely wept with sentiment. During
the whole of this scene, which lasted some three hours, he
had plenty of shouting and weeping and sentimental
company, and throughout Defarge held him by the collar,
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as if to restrain him from flying at the objects of his brief
devotion and tearing them to pieces.
‘For instance,’ returned Madame Defarge, composedly,
‘shrouds.’
The man moved a little further away, as soon as he
could, and the mender of roads fanned himself with his
blue cap: feeling it mightily close and oppressive. If he
needed a King and Queen to restore him, he was
fortunate in having his remedy at hand; for, soon the
large-faced King and the fair-faced Queen came in their
golden coach, attended by the shining Bull’s Eye of their
Court, a glittering multitude of laughing ladies and fine
lords; and in jewels and silks and powder and splendour
and elegantly spurning figures and handsomely disdainful
faces of both sexes, the mender of roads bathed himself, so
much to his temporary intoxication, that he cried Long
live the King, Long live the Queen, Long live everybody
and everything! as if he had never heard of ubiquitous
Jacques in his time. Then, there were gardens, courtyards,
terraces, fountains, green banks, more King and Queen,
more Bull’s Eye,more lords and ladies, more Long live
they all! until he absolutely wept with sentiment. During
the whole of this scene, which lasted some three hours, he
had plenty of shouting and weeping and sentimental
company, and throughout Defarge held him by the collar,
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as if to restrain him from flying at the objects of his brief
devotion and tearing them to pieces.
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens(8)
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Funerals had at all times a remarkable attraction for Mr.
Cruncher; he always pricked up his senses, and became
excited, when a funeral passed Tellson’s. Naturally,
therefore, a funeral with this uncommon attendance
excited him greatly, and he asked of the first man who ran
against him:
‘What is it, brother? What’s it about?’
‘I don’t know,’ said the man. ‘Spies! Yaha! Tst! Spies!’
He asked another man. ‘Who is it?’
‘I don’t know,’ returned the man, clapping his hands to
his mouth nevertheless, and vociferating in a surprising
heat and with the greatest ardour, ‘Spies! Yaha! Tst, tst!
Spi—ies!’
At length, a person better informed on the merits of the
case, tumbled against him, and from this person he learned
that the funeral was the funeral of one Roger Cly.
‘Was He a spy?’ asked Mr. Cruncher.
‘Old Bailey spy,’ returned his informant. ‘Yaha! Tst!
Yah! Old Bailey Spi—i—ies!’
‘Why, to be sure!’ exclaimed Jerry, recalling the Trial at
which he had assisted. ‘I’ve seen him. Dead, is he?’
‘Dead as mutton,’ returned the other, ‘and can’t be too
dead. Have ‘em out, there! Spies! Pull ‘em out, there!
Spies!’
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273 of 670
Funerals had at all times a remarkable attraction for Mr.
Cruncher; he always pricked up his senses, and became
excited, when a funeral passed Tellson’s. Naturally,
therefore, a funeral with this uncommon attendance
excited him greatly, and he asked of the first man who ran
against him:
‘What is it, brother? What’s it about?’
‘I don’t know,’ said the man. ‘Spies! Yaha! Tst! Spies!’
He asked another man. ‘Who is it?’
‘I don’t know,’ returned the man, clapping his hands to
his mouth nevertheless, and vociferating in a surprising
heat and with the greatest ardour, ‘Spies! Yaha! Tst, tst!
Spi—ies!’
At length, a person better informed on the merits of the
case, tumbled against him, and from this person he learned
that the funeral was the funeral of one Roger Cly.
‘Was He a spy?’ asked Mr. Cruncher.
‘Old Bailey spy,’ returned his informant. ‘Yaha! Tst!
Yah! Old Bailey Spi—i—ies!’
‘Why, to be sure!’ exclaimed Jerry, recalling the Trial at
which he had assisted. ‘I’ve seen him. Dead, is he?’
‘Dead as mutton,’ returned the other, ‘and can’t be too
dead. Have ‘em out, there! Spies! Pull ‘em out, there!
Spies!’
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A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens(7)
against me. I say nothing more of my stake in this; this is
what I ask. The condition on which I ask it, and which
you have an undoubted right to require, I will observe
immediately.’
‘I give the promise,’ said the Doctor, ‘without any
condition. I believe your object to be, purely and
truthfully, as you have stated it. I believe your intention is
to perpetuate, and not to weaken, the ties between me
and my other and far dearer self. If she should ever tell me
that you are essential to her perfect happiness, I will give
her to you. If there were—Charles Darnay, if there
were—‘
The young man had taken his hand gratefully; their
hands were joined as the Doctor spoke:
what I ask. The condition on which I ask it, and which
you have an undoubted right to require, I will observe
immediately.’
‘I give the promise,’ said the Doctor, ‘without any
condition. I believe your object to be, purely and
truthfully, as you have stated it. I believe your intention is
to perpetuate, and not to weaken, the ties between me
and my other and far dearer self. If she should ever tell me
that you are essential to her perfect happiness, I will give
her to you. If there were—Charles Darnay, if there
were—‘
The young man had taken his hand gratefully; their
hands were joined as the Doctor spoke:
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens(7)
‘What of your husband, the forester? Always the same
with you people. He cannot pay something?’
‘He has paid all, Monseigneur. He is dead.’
‘Well! He is quiet. Can I restore him to you?’
‘Alas, no, Monseigneur! But he lies yonder, under a
little heap of poor grass.’
‘Well?’
‘Monseigneur, there are so many little heaps of poor
grass?’
‘Again, well?’
She looked an old woman, but was young. Her manner
was one of passionate grief; by turns she clasped her
veinous and knotted hands together with wild energy, and
laid one of them on the carriage-door —tenderly,
caressingly, as if it had been a human breast, and could be
expected to feel the appealing touch.
‘Monseigneur, hear me! Monseigneur, hear my
petition! My husband died of want; so many die of want;
so many more will die of want.’
with you people. He cannot pay something?’
‘He has paid all, Monseigneur. He is dead.’
‘Well! He is quiet. Can I restore him to you?’
‘Alas, no, Monseigneur! But he lies yonder, under a
little heap of poor grass.’
‘Well?’
‘Monseigneur, there are so many little heaps of poor
grass?’
‘Again, well?’
She looked an old woman, but was young. Her manner
was one of passionate grief; by turns she clasped her
veinous and knotted hands together with wild energy, and
laid one of them on the carriage-door —tenderly,
caressingly, as if it had been a human breast, and could be
expected to feel the appealing touch.
‘Monseigneur, hear me! Monseigneur, hear my
petition! My husband died of want; so many die of want;
so many more will die of want.’
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens(6)
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Notwithstanding Miss Pross’s denial of her own
imagination, there was a perception of the pain of being
monotonously haunted by one sad idea, in her repetition
of the phrase, walking up and down, which testified to her
possessing such a thing.
The corner has been mentioned as a wonderful corner
for echoes; it had begun to echo so resoundingly to the
tread of coming feet, that it seemed as though the very
mention of that weary pacing to and fro had set it going.
‘Here they are!’ said Miss Pross, rising to break up the
conference; ‘and now we shall have hundreds of people
pretty soon!’
It was such a curious corner in its acoustical properties,
such a peculiar Ear of a place, that as Mr. Lorry stood at
the open window, looking for the father and daughter
whose steps he heard, he fancied they would never
approach. Not only would the echoes die away, as though
the steps had gone
171 of 670
Notwithstanding Miss Pross’s denial of her own
imagination, there was a perception of the pain of being
monotonously haunted by one sad idea, in her repetition
of the phrase, walking up and down, which testified to her
possessing such a thing.
The corner has been mentioned as a wonderful corner
for echoes; it had begun to echo so resoundingly to the
tread of coming feet, that it seemed as though the very
mention of that weary pacing to and fro had set it going.
‘Here they are!’ said Miss Pross, rising to break up the
conference; ‘and now we shall have hundreds of people
pretty soon!’
It was such a curious corner in its acoustical properties,
such a peculiar Ear of a place, that as Mr. Lorry stood at
the open window, looking for the father and daughter
whose steps he heard, he fancied they would never
approach. Not only would the echoes die away, as though
the steps had gone
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens(5)
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infamous prosecution, grossly infamous; but not the less
likely to succeed on that account.’
‘You have laid me under an obligation to you for life—
in two senses,’ said his late client, taking his hand.
‘I have done my best for you, Mr. Darnay; and my best
is as good as another man’s, I believe.’
It clearly being incumbent on some one to say, ‘Much
better,’ Mr. Lorry said it; perhaps not quite disinterestedly,
but with the interested object of squeezing himself back
again.
‘You think so?’ said Mr. Stryver. ‘Well! you have been
present all day, and you ought to know. You are a man of
business, too.’
infamous prosecution, grossly infamous; but not the less
likely to succeed on that account.’
‘You have laid me under an obligation to you for life—
in two senses,’ said his late client, taking his hand.
‘I have done my best for you, Mr. Darnay; and my best
is as good as another man’s, I believe.’
It clearly being incumbent on some one to say, ‘Much
better,’ Mr. Lorry said it; perhaps not quite disinterestedly,
but with the interested object of squeezing himself back
again.
‘You think so?’ said Mr. Stryver. ‘Well! you have been
present all day, and you ought to know. You are a man of
business, too.’
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens(4)
‘Ah!’ returned the man, with a relish; ‘he’ll be drawn
on a hurdle to be half hanged, and then he’ll be taken
down and sliced before his own face, and then his inside
will be taken out and burnt while he looks on, and then
his head will be chopped off, and he’ll be cut into
quarters. That’s the sentence.’
‘If he’s found Guilty, you mean to say?’ Jerry added, by
way of proviso.
‘Oh! they’ll find him guilty,’ said the other. ‘Don’t you
be afraid of that.’
Mr. Cruncher’s attention was here diverted to the
door-keeper, whom he saw making his way to Mr. Lorry,
with the note in his hand. Mr. Lorry sat at a table, among
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the gentlemen in wigs: not far from a wigged gentleman,
the prisoner’s counsel, who had a great bundle of papers
before him: and nearly opposite another wigged
gentleman with his hands in his pockets, whose whole
attention, when Mr. Cruncher looked at him then or
afterwards, seemed to be concentrated on the ceiling of
the court. After some gruff coughing and rubbing of his
chin and signing with his hand, Jerry attracted the notice
of Mr. Lorry, who had stood up to look for him, and who
quietly nodded and sat down again.
‘What’s HE got to do with the case?’ asked the man he
had spoken with
on a hurdle to be half hanged, and then he’ll be taken
down and sliced before his own face, and then his inside
will be taken out and burnt while he looks on, and then
his head will be chopped off, and he’ll be cut into
quarters. That’s the sentence.’
‘If he’s found Guilty, you mean to say?’ Jerry added, by
way of proviso.
‘Oh! they’ll find him guilty,’ said the other. ‘Don’t you
be afraid of that.’
Mr. Cruncher’s attention was here diverted to the
door-keeper, whom he saw making his way to Mr. Lorry,
with the note in his hand. Mr. Lorry sat at a table, among
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the gentlemen in wigs: not far from a wigged gentleman,
the prisoner’s counsel, who had a great bundle of papers
before him: and nearly opposite another wigged
gentleman with his hands in his pockets, whose whole
attention, when Mr. Cruncher looked at him then or
afterwards, seemed to be concentrated on the ceiling of
the court. After some gruff coughing and rubbing of his
chin and signing with his hand, Jerry attracted the notice
of Mr. Lorry, who had stood up to look for him, and who
quietly nodded and sat down again.
‘What’s HE got to do with the case?’ asked the man he
had spoken with
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens(3)
He had put up a hand between his eyes and the light,
and the very bones of it seemed transparent. So he sat,
with a steadfastly vacant gaze, pausing in his work. He
never looked at the figure before him, without first
looking down on this side of himself, then on that, as if he
had lost the habit of associating place with sound; he never
spoke, without first wandering in this manner, and
forgetting to speak.
‘Are you going to finish that pair of shoes to-day?’
asked Defarge, motioning to Mr. Lorry to come forward.
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‘What did you say?’
‘Do you mean to finish that pair of shoes to-day?’
‘I can’t say that I mean to. I suppose so. I don’t know.’
But, the question reminded him of his work, and he
bent over it again.
and the very bones of it seemed transparent. So he sat,
with a steadfastly vacant gaze, pausing in his work. He
never looked at the figure before him, without first
looking down on this side of himself, then on that, as if he
had lost the habit of associating place with sound; he never
spoke, without first wandering in this manner, and
forgetting to speak.
‘Are you going to finish that pair of shoes to-day?’
asked Defarge, motioning to Mr. Lorry to come forward.
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‘What did you say?’
‘Do you mean to finish that pair of shoes to-day?’
‘I can’t say that I mean to. I suppose so. I don’t know.’
But, the question reminded him of his work, and he
bent over it again.
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens(2)
‘At that time—I may ask, at what time, sir?’
‘I speak, miss, of twenty years ago. He married—an
English lady—and I was one of the trustees. His affairs,
like the affairs of many other French gentlemen and
French families, were entirely in Tellson’s hands. In a
similar way I am, or I have been, trustee of one kind or
other for scores of our customers. These are mere business
relations, miss; there is no friendship in them, no particular
interest, nothing like sentiment. I have passed from one to
another, in the course of my business life, just as I pass
from one of our customers to another in the course of my
business day; in short, I have no feelings; I am a mere
machine. To go on—‘
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‘But this is my father’s story, sir; and I begin to think’
—the curiously roughened forehead was very intent upon
him—‘that when I was left an orphan through my
mother’s surviving my father only two years, it was you
who brought me to England. I am almost sure it was you.’
‘I speak, miss, of twenty years ago. He married—an
English lady—and I was one of the trustees. His affairs,
like the affairs of many other French gentlemen and
French families, were entirely in Tellson’s hands. In a
similar way I am, or I have been, trustee of one kind or
other for scores of our customers. These are mere business
relations, miss; there is no friendship in them, no particular
interest, nothing like sentiment. I have passed from one to
another, in the course of my business life, just as I pass
from one of our customers to another in the course of my
business day; in short, I have no feelings; I am a mere
machine. To go on—‘
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‘But this is my father’s story, sir; and I begin to think’
—the curiously roughened forehead was very intent upon
him—‘that when I was left an orphan through my
mother’s surviving my father only two years, it was you
who brought me to England. I am almost sure it was you.’
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Book the First—Recalled to Life
A Tale of Two Cities
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I
The Period
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was
the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the
epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the
season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the
spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had
everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were
all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the
other way—in short, the period was so far like the present
period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its
being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative
degree of comparison only.
There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a
plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king
with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the
throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than
crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and
fishes, that things in general were settled for ever.
It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven
hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were
conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this.
eBook brought to you by
A Tale of Two Cities
Book the First—Recalled to Life
A Tale of Two Cities
3 of 670
I
The Period
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was
the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the
epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the
season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the
spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had
everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were
all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the
other way—in short, the period was so far like the present
period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its
being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative
degree of comparison only.
There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a
plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king
with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the
throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than
crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and
fishes, that things in general were settled for ever.
It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven
hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were
conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this.
eBook brought to you by
A Tale of Two Cities
October 7, 2010
A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens(6)
"Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you
point,’ said Scrooge, ‘answer me one question. Are these
the shadows of the things that Will be, or are they
shadows of things that May be, only.’
Still the Ghost pointed downward to the grave by
which it stood.
‘Men’s courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which,
if persevered in, they must lead,’ said Scrooge. ‘But if the
courses be departed from, the ends will change. Say it is
thus with what you show me.’
The Spirit was immovable as ever.
Scrooge crept towards it, trembling as he went; and
following the finger, read upon the stone of the neglected
grave his own name, Ebenezer Scrooge.
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‘Am I that man who lay upon the bed.’ he cried, upon
his knees.
The finger pointed from the grave to him, and back
again.
‘No, Spirit. Oh no, no.’
The finger still was there.
point,’ said Scrooge, ‘answer me one question. Are these
the shadows of the things that Will be, or are they
shadows of things that May be, only.’
Still the Ghost pointed downward to the grave by
which it stood.
‘Men’s courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which,
if persevered in, they must lead,’ said Scrooge. ‘But if the
courses be departed from, the ends will change. Say it is
thus with what you show me.’
The Spirit was immovable as ever.
Scrooge crept towards it, trembling as he went; and
following the finger, read upon the stone of the neglected
grave his own name, Ebenezer Scrooge.
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‘Am I that man who lay upon the bed.’ he cried, upon
his knees.
The finger pointed from the grave to him, and back
again.
‘No, Spirit. Oh no, no.’
The finger still was there.
A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens(5)
‘I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet To
Come.’ said Scrooge.
The Spirit answered not, but pointed onward with its
hand.
‘You are about to show me shadows of the things that
have not happened, but will happen in the time before us,’
Scrooge pursued. ‘Is that so, Spirit.’
A Christmas Carol
102 of 138
The upper portion of the garment was contracted for
an instant in its folds, as if the Spirit had inclined its head.
That was the only answer he received.
Although well used to ghostly company by this time,
Scrooge feared the silent shape so much that his legs
trembled beneath him, and he found that he could hardly
stand when he prepared to follow it. The Spirit pauses a
moment, as observing his condition, and giving him time
to recover.
But Scrooge was all the worse for this.
Come.’ said Scrooge.
The Spirit answered not, but pointed onward with its
hand.
‘You are about to show me shadows of the things that
have not happened, but will happen in the time before us,’
Scrooge pursued. ‘Is that so, Spirit.’
A Christmas Carol
102 of 138
The upper portion of the garment was contracted for
an instant in its folds, as if the Spirit had inclined its head.
That was the only answer he received.
Although well used to ghostly company by this time,
Scrooge feared the silent shape so much that his legs
trembled beneath him, and he found that he could hardly
stand when he prepared to follow it. The Spirit pauses a
moment, as observing his condition, and giving him time
to recover.
But Scrooge was all the worse for this.
A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens(4)
75 of 138
own; and basking in luxurious thoughts of sage and onion,
these young Cratchits danced about the table, and exalted
Master Peter Cratchit to the skies, while he (not proud,
although his collars nearly choked him) blew the fire, until
the slow potatoes bubbling up, knocked loudly at the
saucepan-lid to be let out and peeled.
‘What has ever got your precious father then.’ said Mrs
Cratchit. ‘And your brother, Tiny Tim. And Martha
warn’t as late last Christmas Day by half-an-hour.’
‘Here’s Martha, mother.’ said a girl, appearing as she
spoke.
‘Here’s Martha, mother.’ cried the two young
Cratchits. ‘Hurrah. There’s such a goose, Martha.’
‘Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you
are.’ said Mrs Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and
taking off her shawl and bonnet for her with officious zeal.
‘We’d a deal of work to finish up last night,’ replied the
girl,’ and had to clear away this morning, mother.’
‘Well. Never mind so long as you are come,’ said Mrs
Cratchit. ‘Sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and have a
warm, Lord bless ye.’
‘No, no. There’s father coming,’ cried the two young
Cratchits, who were everywhere at once. ‘Hide, Martha,
hide.’
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A Christmas Carol
own; and basking in luxurious thoughts of sage and onion,
these young Cratchits danced about the table, and exalted
Master Peter Cratchit to the skies, while he (not proud,
although his collars nearly choked him) blew the fire, until
the slow potatoes bubbling up, knocked loudly at the
saucepan-lid to be let out and peeled.
‘What has ever got your precious father then.’ said Mrs
Cratchit. ‘And your brother, Tiny Tim. And Martha
warn’t as late last Christmas Day by half-an-hour.’
‘Here’s Martha, mother.’ said a girl, appearing as she
spoke.
‘Here’s Martha, mother.’ cried the two young
Cratchits. ‘Hurrah. There’s such a goose, Martha.’
‘Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you
are.’ said Mrs Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and
taking off her shawl and bonnet for her with officious zeal.
‘We’d a deal of work to finish up last night,’ replied the
girl,’ and had to clear away this morning, mother.’
‘Well. Never mind so long as you are come,’ said Mrs
Cratchit. ‘Sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and have a
warm, Lord bless ye.’
‘No, no. There’s father coming,’ cried the two young
Cratchits, who were everywhere at once. ‘Hide, Martha,
hide.’
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Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version.
A Christmas Carol
A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens(3)
A Christmas Carol
48 of 138
‘She died a woman,’ said the Ghost, ‘and had, as I
think, children.’
‘One child,’ Scrooge returned.
‘True,’ said the Ghost. ‘Your nephew.’
Scrooge seemed uneasy in his mind; and answered
briefly, ‘Yes.’
Although they had but that moment left the school
behind them, they were now in the busy thoroughfares of
a city, where shadowy passengers passed and repassed;
where shadowy carts and coaches battle for the way, and
all the strife and tumult of a real city were. It was made
plain enough, by the dressing of the shops, that here too it
was Christmas time again; but it was evening, and the
streets were lighted up.
48 of 138
‘She died a woman,’ said the Ghost, ‘and had, as I
think, children.’
‘One child,’ Scrooge returned.
‘True,’ said the Ghost. ‘Your nephew.’
Scrooge seemed uneasy in his mind; and answered
briefly, ‘Yes.’
Although they had but that moment left the school
behind them, they were now in the busy thoroughfares of
a city, where shadowy passengers passed and repassed;
where shadowy carts and coaches battle for the way, and
all the strife and tumult of a real city were. It was made
plain enough, by the dressing of the shops, that here too it
was Christmas time again; but it was evening, and the
streets were lighted up.
A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens(2)
Scrooge was not much in the habit of cracking jokes,
nor did he feel, in his heart, by any means waggish then.
The truth is, that he tried to be smart, as a means of
distracting his own attention, and keeping down his terror;
for the spectre’s voice disturbed the very marrow in his
bones.
To sit, staring at those fixed glazed eyes, in silence for a
moment, would play, Scrooge felt, the very deuce with
him. There was something very awful, too, in the spectre’s
being provided with an infernal atmosphere of its own.
Scrooge could not feel it himself, but this was clearly the
case; for though the Ghost sat perfectly motionless, its hair,
and skirts, and tassels, were still agitated as by the hot
vapour from an oven.
‘You see this toothpick?’ said Scrooge, returning
quickly to the charge, for the reason just assigned; and
wishing, though it were only for a second, to divert the
vision’s stony gaze from himself.
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26 of 138
‘I do,’ replied the Ghost.
‘You are not looking at it,’ said Scrooge.
nor did he feel, in his heart, by any means waggish then.
The truth is, that he tried to be smart, as a means of
distracting his own attention, and keeping down his terror;
for the spectre’s voice disturbed the very marrow in his
bones.
To sit, staring at those fixed glazed eyes, in silence for a
moment, would play, Scrooge felt, the very deuce with
him. There was something very awful, too, in the spectre’s
being provided with an infernal atmosphere of its own.
Scrooge could not feel it himself, but this was clearly the
case; for though the Ghost sat perfectly motionless, its hair,
and skirts, and tassels, were still agitated as by the hot
vapour from an oven.
‘You see this toothpick?’ said Scrooge, returning
quickly to the charge, for the reason just assigned; and
wishing, though it were only for a second, to divert the
vision’s stony gaze from himself.
A Christmas Carol
26 of 138
‘I do,’ replied the Ghost.
‘You are not looking at it,’ said Scrooge.
A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens(1)
A Christmas Carol
2 of 138
I have endeavoured in this Ghostly little
book, to raise the Ghost of an Idea, which
shall not put my readers out of humour
with themselves, with each other, with the
season, or with me. May it haunt their
houses pleasantly, and no one wish to lay it.
Their faithful Friend and Servant, C. D.
December, 1843.
A Christmas Carol
3 of 138
Stave 1: Marley’s Ghost
Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt
whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed
by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief
mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge’s name was
good upon ‘Change, for anything he chose to put his hand
to.
Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.
Mind! I don’t mean to say that I know, of my own
knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a doornail.
I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffinnail
as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade.
2 of 138
I have endeavoured in this Ghostly little
book, to raise the Ghost of an Idea, which
shall not put my readers out of humour
with themselves, with each other, with the
season, or with me. May it haunt their
houses pleasantly, and no one wish to lay it.
Their faithful Friend and Servant, C. D.
December, 1843.
A Christmas Carol
3 of 138
Stave 1: Marley’s Ghost
Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt
whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed
by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief
mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge’s name was
good upon ‘Change, for anything he chose to put his hand
to.
Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.
Mind! I don’t mean to say that I know, of my own
knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a doornail.
I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffinnail
as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade.
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