Goldilocks
“She had rid herself of the robe for a dress and had done something with her hair, but she had buried herself again in the upholstered chair and, as if to ward him off, had tilted her husband’s picture toward the doorway. “I brought in your mail,” he said, sorting pieces. “You got bills to pay. I’ll leave them here.” He dropped them on the desk near her husband’s photograph. “Who’s the person sending you a postcard from Florida? I can’t read the writing.”
“It’s none of your business,” she said w...ith courage, and he smiled.
“That’s better, Mrs. Goss. About time you showed a little life.”
She sank deeper into the chair, the shock of her own voice pushing her there. She wanted to say something else, but her thoughts were too loose to collect. Then, quite suddenly, her eyes were drawn to his feet, and she experienced another shock. “Take them off,” she said.
“Why?” he asked amiably. “They fit fine. My first pair of Florsheims.”
“They’re not yours.”MoreLess
“It’s none of your business,” she said w...ith courage, and he smiled.
“That’s better, Mrs. Goss. About time you showed a little life.”
She sank deeper into the chair, the shock of her own voice pushing her there. She wanted to say something else, but her thoughts were too loose to collect. Then, quite suddenly, her eyes were drawn to his feet, and she experienced another shock. “Take them off,” she said.
“Why?” he asked amiably. “They fit fine. My first pair of Florsheims.”
“They’re not yours.”MoreLess
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