We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.
Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.
pretty story, with its implications. Of course if you were married, that explains why she was jealous of Kay."
"I never guessed," I said brokenly. I'd been a fool. This explained everything. Chris had been right when he'd said, "When we know about Honey Hollister, we'll know the story of Riley Sloane."
In the next hour, we heard the story. Between questions and answers, the coroner's examination and Chris's report, between shunting off reporters and keeping out of sight of the curious crowd outside, with many
FEBRUARY, 1943
painful gaps and pauses, the story came out. Only Chris and I heard the whole of it. And only we saw the brittle control with which Riley told it, a control that threatened to snap at any minute.
They'd been married five years ago. In Las Vegas, secretly, because she'd insisted it be that way. "She was big news in Hollywood. I was nobody. She said the studio would raise a row if it were publicized. I could see her point. Besides, I — well, I was crazy enough about her to do it any way she asked."
I could read between the lines. I could see him agreeing to that simple little request — with that warm body in his arms and that lovely face half pleading, half promising. He'd already made himself hard when he came out here. Embittered early by seeing his father's defeat in life, he'd denied himself the simple things we live by — companionship and trust and love — and armored himself against them. He had told me once that Honey was the chink in his armor. His love for her had borne the burden of his starvation and denial and the ideal
57