Free Waltz Into Darkness by Cornell Woolrich

first, and studied it a second, this way and
that. "Who's it from ?" she said.
    "Can't
you tell?"
    Just
as he was about to wonder why the script in itself did not tell her
that, she had already withdrawn its contents and opened them, and
murmured "Oh," so the question never had a chance to form
itself in his mind. But whether the "Oh" meant recognition
of its sender or merely recognition of the nature of the letter, or
even something else quite different, there was no way for him to
distinguish.
    She
read it rather quickly, even hurriedly, her head moving with each
line, then back again, in continuous serried little twitchings. Then
reached the bottom and had done.
    He
thought he saw remorse on her face, in its sudden, still abstraction,
that held for a moment after.
    "She
says--" She half-tendered it to him. "Did you read it?"
    "Yes,
I did," he said, slightly uncomfortable.
    She
put it back in the envelope, gave the latter two taps where its seam
was broken.
    He
looked at her fondly, to soften the insistence of his appeal. "Write
to her, Julia," he urged. "That is not like you at all."
    "I
will," she promised contritely. "Oh, I will, Louis, without
fail." And twisted her hands a little, about themselves, and
looked down at them as she did so.
    "But
why didn't you before now?" he continued gently. "I never
asked you, because I felt sure you had."
    "Oh,
so much has happened--I meant to, time and again I meant to, and each
time there was something to take my mind off it. You see, Louis, this
has been the beginning of a whole new life for me, these past few
weeks, and everything seemed to come at one time--"
    "I
know," he said. "But you will write?" And he took up
and lost himself in his newspaper.
    "The
very first thing," she vowed.
    Half
an hour went by. She was, now, turning the leaves of a heavy
ornamental album, regaling herself with the copperplate engravings,
snubbing the text.
    He
watched her covertly from under lowered lids a moment. Presently he
cleared his throat as a reminder.
    She
took no notice, went ahead, with childlike engrossment.
    "You
said you would write to your sister."
    She
looked slightly disconcerted. "I know. But must it be right
tonight? Why won't tomorrow do as well ?"
    "Don't
you want to write to her?"
    "Of
course I do, how can you ask that? But why must it be this instant?
Will tomorrow make such a difference ?"
    He
put his newspaper aside. "A great deal in time of arrival, I'm
afraid. If you write it now, it can go off in the early morning post.
If you wait until tomorrow, it will be held over a full day longer;
she will have that much more anxiety to endure."
    He
rose, closed the album for her, since she gave no signs of intending
to do this herself. Then he stopped momentarily, looked at her
searchingly to ask: "There's no ill-feeling between you, is
there? Some quarrel just before you left that you haven't told me
about?" And before she could speak, if she had meant to, put the
answer in her mouth. "She doesn't write as though there had
been."
    The
lines of her throat, extended for an instant, dropped back again, as
if he'd aborted what she'd been about to say.
    "How
you talk," she murmured. "We're devoted to one another."
    "Well,
then, come. Why be stubborn? There's no time like the present. And
you have nothing to occupy yourself with, that I can see." He
took her by both hands and had to draw her to her feet. And though
she made no active sign of resistance, he could feel the weight of
her body against the direction of his pull.
    He
had to go to the desk and lower the writing-slab. He had to draw out
a sheet of fresh notepaper from .the rack, and put it in place for
her, slightly tilted of corner.
    He
had to go back and bring her over, from where she stood, by the hand.
Then even when he had her seated, he had to dip the pen and place it
in her very fingers. He gave her head a pat. "You are like a
stubborn child that doesn't want to do its lessons," he told her
humorously.
    She
tried to smile,