PEGGY-IN-THE-RAIN
Impatiently he tossed it aside and again shuffled over the remaining letters. One, addressed in an easy flowing hand on a cheap business-shape envelope, was thrice disregarded, and only when he had been disappointed four times did he open it, already concluding that she had written, if at all, too late for the first delivery. The single sheet of cheap gray paper inside didn't fit the envelope and Gordon scarcely troubled to glance at the signature. But what he saw was sufficient to rivet his attention.
He let the note drop, fumbled for his cigarette case, and, not until he had sent a half-dozen clouds of blue smoke at the gray, rain-blurred window did he rescue the letter and, with pounding heart, read it.
I wonder [she wrote] if you have any idea how hard it is for me to write this. I have tried already four times, and this, my fifth attempt, will prove no better than the others, I fear. Give me credit for this, for it would be so very, very much easier to forget my promise and not write at all. I've been thinking it all over. I've done nothing much else for three days. Now that I have reached my decision it seems so evident that I should have reached it Tuesday night that I can only wonder. What you wanted and, for
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