Quickly the girl tore it open.
DEAR Texas LADY: I am writing this late in the afternoon.

The sun is casting long black shadows on the garden lawn, and the whole world is so bright and matter-of-fact I have to argue with myself to be convinced that the events of that tragic night through which I passed really happened.
The newspapers this morning helped to make it all seem a dream; not a line--not a word, that I can find.

When I think of America, and how by this time the reporters would be swarming through our house if this thing had happened over there, I am the more astonished.

But then, I know these English papers.

The great Joe Chamberlain died the other night at ten, and it was noon the next day when the first paper to carry the story appeared--screaming loudly that it had scored a beat.