as
you." He wondered about Agnes. He looked at the smashed automobiles,
some with their four wheels pointing skyward like the stiffened legs
of dead animals. He couldn't get to Agnes now anyway, if she was safe,
then, she was safe, otherwise ... of course, Henry knew Agnes wasn't
safe. He had a feeling that there wasn't anyone safe for a long, long
way, maybe not in the whole state or the whole country, or the whole
world. No, that was a thought Henry didn't want to think, he forced it
from his mind and turned his thoughts back to Agnes.

* * * * *

She had been a pretty good wife, now that it was all said and done. It
wasn't exactly her fault if people didn't have time to read nowadays.
It was just that there was the house, and the bank, and the yard.
There were the Jones' for bridge and the Graysons' for canasta and
charades with the Bryants. And the television, the television Agnes
loved to watch, but would never watch alone. He never had time to read
even a newspaper. He started thinking about last night, that business
about the newspaper.

Henry had settled into his chair, quietly, afraid that a creaking
spring might call to Agnes' attention the fact that he was momentarily
unoccupied. He had unfolded the newspaper slowly and carefully, the
sharp crackle of the paper would have been a clarion call to Agnes. He
had glanced at the headlines of the first page. "Collapse Of
Conference Imminent." He didn't have time to read the article. He
turned to the second page. "Solon Predicts War Only Days Away." He
flipped through the pages faster, reading brief snatches here and
there, afraid to spend too much time on any one item. On a back page
was a brief article entitled, "Prehistoric Artifacts Unearthed In
Yucatan". Henry smiled to himself and carefully folded the sheet of
paper into fourths. That would be interesting, he would read all of
it. Then it came, Agnes' voice. "Henrrreee!" And then she was upon
him. She lightly flicked the paper out of his hands and into the
fireplace. He saw the flames lick up and curl possessively around the
unread article. Agnes continued, "Henry, tonight is the Jones' bridge
night. They'll be here in thirty minutes and I'm not dressed yet, and
here you are ... _reading_." She had emphasized the last word as
though it were an unclean act. "Hurry and shave, you know how smooth
Jasper Jones' chin always looks, and then straighten up this room."
She glanced reg