ABSTRACT
Mysie was not thinking of anything when Dick Chisholm telephoned; especially not about Arthur; that was no use. Her empty mind refused to attach any significance to Chisholm’s name; she had to pretend she couldn’t hear, asking him to repeat it. Dick Chisholm—of course, she hadn’t seen him since she left Sequitlam; why did people expect to be remembered forever for no reason? Someone she had danced with fifteen years ago. She hadn’t the energy to snub him off, but she moaned at his suggestion of going out, to a theater or night club. “Oh, no—I can’t; but if you want to drop in. . It’s the top floor.”
