“Unless she were a fiend of darkness he would get a letter. He would never get it, of course, but he would wait until Thursday for it. Perhaps, by Thursday, he would be calmer, and anyway his not taking any notice of her till then might give her a lesson. After that, there was always the ’phone. Where would he have been without that ’phone? At least he ought to be thankful for small mercies. Tuesday and Wednesday. . . . The snow was still upon the ground. . . . Everybody was sick to death of it.... What had started as a charming and friendly fantasy had ended as a muddy disgrace. It was still bitterly cold. On Thursday morning the postman (whose heavy feet came clumping upon a waiter’s very nerves) was given his last opportunity of delivering anything other than lifeless and stupid simulations of correspondence at ‘The Midnight Bell,’ and failed. At eleven o’clock Bob left the house. Above all, Bob was going to keep his head. In ’phoning Jenny, there were two fundamental precepts to be observed – firstly, not to quarrel with, or endeavour to mimic, even in thought, the whining negatives of the landlady – secondly (and if you were so lucky as to speak to the little goddess herself), not to criticize, nor to lament, nor do anything but personally apologize for her latest deceptions and shortcomings.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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