Jane has entirely recovered, and has today resumed work on her tapestry, with us a barometer of normality. She has even agreed to dine at the Livingstones tonight, not particularly to my delight.
“Come over and dine,” Mrs. Livingstone telephoned, “and let’s have a little bridge. I’ve had the horrors for three days.”
“You don’t object to my wearing my revolver, as a part of my evening outfit?”
“Everybody’s doing it,” she said. “This house has been turned into an arsenal.”
But in the midst of death we are in life. Clara, going to turn down my bed last night, saw two feet projecting from beneath it, and let out a series of wild shrieks.
Needless to say, they were my boots, hastily discarded for a pair of dry ones.…
Later: Doctor Hayward stopped in this evening for a final professional v
