She seemed to assume that it must certainly be something she had said. Somewhere in the world there was a book clerk with a discerning mind; for he had given her the best he had. She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. “I ought to have done anything! “What’s a man for? “Friendship!” He doubled up his fist, and seemed to contemplate thrusting it through the window. A stack of chimneys, on the house above them, had yielded to the storm, and descended in a shower of bricks and stones. He told me with a coarse nervous laugh.
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