At the very door to the establishment--with
one foot across the threshold, in fact--she paused, her face tilted
toward the corner where wall and ceiling met, and at whatever she saw
there her eyes dilated widely and her left hand sprang to her bosom as
if against the incision of quick steel. Then, without even entering, she
rushed back to her car again, urging her chauffeur, at the risk of every
speed regulation, homeward.
That was the beginning of purgatorial weeks that were soon to tell on
Hester. They actually brought out a streak of gray through her hair,
which Lottie promptly dyed and worked under into the lower part of her
coiffure. For herself, Hester would have let it remain.
Wheeler was frankly perplexed. God knows it was bad enough to be called
upon to endure streaks of unreasonableness at Rosencranz, but Hester
wasn't there to show that side to him if she had it. To be pretty frank
about it, she was well paid not to. Well paid! He'd done his part. More
than nine out of ten would have done.
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