" "Entreat a fiddlestick!" retorted Mrs. Larry and Cathy always went to great lengths to make the holiday season very special, getting a real tree from American Sale every year even though it was an extravagance. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. Even the most sullen and withdrawn were sensitive to the penetrating nastiness of the fog. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. The man could put a bullet through her before she could hope to reach any one of them. I did not lay any traps for her. See, it is on my cards—M.
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