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Updated: May 11, 2025
If she and I are the only women you ever cared for, thank God that there aren't any more of us to suffer from you. Morton, when I read that a Morris Sebree had died in Brazil, I hoped it was you! You're no good! You're no good!" She was thumping now with the sobs she kept under her voice. "Why, Hattie," he said, his drawl not quickened, "you don't mean that!" "I do! You're a ruiner of lives!
They were good gray eyes with popping whites now, because of a trick of blackening the lids. But the irises were in their pools, inviolate. "Well, Hattie, I reckon I'd have known you even under black." "I thought you were in Rio." "Got to hankering after the States, Hattie." "I read of a Morris Sebree died in Brazil.
With the stunned consciousness of a stabbed person that glinting instant before the blood begins to flow. It was Morton Sebree Marcia's father. "Morton!" "Hattie." "Come up to my dressing room," she said, as matter-of-factly as if her brain were a clock ticking off the words. They walked up an iron staircase of unreality. Fantastic stairs. Wisps of gloom.
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