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... then
hurry to the newspaper's office and get it on the terminals at once-and into
their next edition. Then hurry back.
So I put on my false foot, wrote out the note to leave at the desk, and
grabbed my cane-and that split-second timing I have noticed too many times in my
life again took place, a timing that impels me more than anything else to think
that this crazy world is somehow planned, not chaos. A knock at my door-
I hurried to open it. It was she! Glory hallelujah! She seemed even smaller
than I knew her to be, and all big round solemn eyes. She was carrying the
little potted maple as if it were a love offering-perhaps it was. "Richard, will
you let me come back? Please?"
All happening at once I took the little tree and put it on the floor and
picked her up and closed the door and sat her on the couch myself beside her and
we were crying sobs and tears and talking all mixed up together.
After a while we slowed and I shut up enough that I heard what she was
saying: "I'm sorry Richard I was wrong I should have backed you but I was hurt
and angry and too stinking proud to turn back and tell you so and when I did you
were gone and I didn't know what to do. Oh, God, darling, don't ever let me
leave you again; make me stay! You're bigger than I am; if I ever get angry
again and try to leave, pick me up and turn me around but don't let me leave!"
"I won't let you leave again, ever
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