(In the last month he had
learned to enter on his toes, lest he waken the baby.) He might
have saved himself the bother, for the baby was not there in its
new gocart. The gocart was not there, Marie was not there--one
after another these facts impressed themselves upon Bud's mind,
even before he found the letter propped against the clock in the
orthodox manner of announcing unexpected departures. Bud read the
letter, crumpled it in his fist, and threw it toward the little
heating stove. "If that's the way yuh feel about it, I'll tell
the world you can go and be darned!" he snorted, and tried to let
that end the matter so far as he was concerned. But he could not
shake off the sense of having been badly used. He did not stop to
consider that while he was working off his anger, that day, Marie
had been rocking back and forth, crying and magnifying the
quarrel as she dwelt upon it, and putting a new and sinister
meaning into Bud's ill-considered utterances. By the time Bud was
thinking only of the bargain car's hidden faults, Marie had
reached the white heat of resentment that demanded vigorous
action. Marie was packing a suitcase and meditating upon the
scorching letter she meant to write.
Judging from the effect which the letter had upon Bud, it must
have been a masterpiece of its kind.
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