I loved that little man:
I loved him, I loved him. He had brought something new into
my life, and his brave, quaint ways had warmed my fat old
heart. For the first time, in an intolerable gush of pain, I
seemed to know that my life could never again be endurable
without him. And now--what was I to do?
How could I learn the truth? Certainly if he _had_ been on the
train, and had escaped from the wreck unhurt, he would have
sent a message to Sabine Farm to let me know. At any rate, that
was a possibility. I rushed to the telephone to call up Andrew.
Oh! the agonizing slowness of telephone connections when
urgent hurry is needed! My voice shook as I said "Redfield
158 J" to the operator. Throbbing with nervousness I waited
to hear the familiar click of the receiver at the other end.
I could hear the Redfield switchboard receive the call, and
put in the plug to connect with our wire. In imagination I
could see the telephone against the wall in the old hallway at
Sabine Farm. I could see the soiled patch of plaster where
Andrew rests his elbow when he talks into the 'phone, and the
place where he jots numbers down in pencil and I rub them off
with bread crumbs. I could see Andrew coming out of the
sitting-room to answer the bell.
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