CHAPTER SIX
Poor Burt. He hasn't written a word in more than a month, not since that morning I wasn't feeling well and came home unexpectedly to find him trying to hide his manuscript as he jumped up from the desk. I didn't say anything to him right then, because I could see he was terribly embarrassed, but when he went out that afternoon I read every sentence. It made me mad, the way he'd told about me so intimately, intending it for publication and all.
The more I thought about it, lying in bed with a fever, the madder I got. I guess I sort of gave him hell when he came home that night. In fact, I sort of gave him hell for three weeks there. He was a darling through it all though, and last week I again read what he'd written so far and several books he brought home for me to compare it
