clock. There could be a
fierce joy at the thought of deliverance, at the prospect of going home
at five o'clock.

But for Sally was the brightness, the deliverance withheld. The corridor
was wide and deserted and the black tiles with their gold borders seemed
to converge upon her, hemming her into a cool magnificence as
structurally somber as the architectural embellishments of a costly
mausoleum.

She found the office with her surface mind, working at cross-purposes
with the confusion and swiftly mounting dread which made her footsteps
falter, her mouth go dry.

_Steady, Sally! Here's the office, here's the door. Turn the knob and
get it over with ..._

Sally opened the door and stepped into a small, deserted reception room.
Beyond the reception desk was a gate, and beyond the gate a large
central office branched off into several smaller offices.

Sally paused only an instant. It seemed quite natural to her that a
business office should be deserted so late in the afternoon.

She crossed the reception room to the gate, passed through it, utter
desperation giving her courage.

Something within her whispered that she had only to walk across the
central office, open the first door she came to to find her husband ...

The first door combined privacy with easy accessibility. The instant she
opened the door she knew that she had been right to trust her instincts.
This was his office ...

He was sitting at a desk by the window, a patch of sunset sky visible
over his right shoulder. His elbows rested on the desk and his hands
were tightly locked as if he had just stopped wringing them.

He was looking straight at her, his eyes wide and staring.

"Jim!" Sally breathed. "Jim, what's wrong?"

He did not answer, did not move or attempt to greet her in any way.
There was no color at all in his face. His lips were parted, his white
teeth gleamed. And he was more stiffly controlled than usual--a control
so intense that for once Sally felt more alarm than bitterness.

There was a rising terror in her now. And a slowly dawning horror. The
sunlight streamed in, gleaming redly on his hair, his shoulders. He
seemed to be the center of a flaming red ball ...

_He sent for you, Sally. Why doesn't he get up and speak to you, if only
to pour salt on the wounds you've borne for eight long years?_

_Poor Sally! You wanted a strong, protective, old-fashioned husband.
What have you got instead?_

Sally went up to the desk and l