And that is what worries me, Duane, and I have nobody in the world to ask about it except you.
Could you please tell me how I might learn what I ought to know concerning these things without betraying my own vital interest in them to whomever I ask?
You see, Kathleen is as innocent as I.
"Please tell me all you can, Duane, for I am most unhappy." * * * * * "The house is very still and full of sunlight and cut flowers.

Scott is meditating great deeds, lying flat in the dirt.

Kathleen sits watching him from the parapet.

And I am here in the library, with that ghastly book at my elbow, pouring out all my doubts and fears to the only man in the world--whom God bless and protect wherever he may be--Oh, Duane, Duane, how I love you!" She hurriedly directed and sealed the letter and placed it in the box for outgoing mail; then, unquiet and apprehensive regarding what she had ventured to write, she began a restless tour of the house, upstairs and down, wandering aimlessly through sunny corridors, opening doors for a brief survey of chambers in which only the shadow-patterns of leaves moved on sunlit walls; still rooms tenanted only by the carefully dusted furniture which seemed to stand there watching attentively for another guest.
Duane had left his pipe in his bedroom.

She was silly over it, even to the point of retiring into her room, shredding some cigarettes, filling the rather rank bowl, and trying her best to smoke it.