Radio mirror (Nov 1937-Apr 1938)

Record Details:

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her firmly modeled, vibrant figure. "Not to you. Oh, Paul, no. I,t's just — I feel I have to go— " Searching for words to express this curious driving force within her, Mary's thoughts milled in her mind. This was the great Paul Cranshaw. It was his word that told vast millions what motion pictures they could see. Yet she could call him Paul. She, Mary Sothern, whose whole world had been against her three short years ago, could sit across this man's desk and look at a contract on which were typed six round figures for her next year's work, and she could turn away again and never lift a finger to the pen. What was the matter with her? "All right," Cranshaw said quietly. "Go someplace. Palm Springs. Caliente. Any place. Take a vacation. Mary fell back against the wall — blood was streaming from his hand. Could she escape? You'll feel different when you get a rest — " The girl's head turned swiftly. A bar of sunshine from the Venetian blind caught in her hair, made a dazzling highlight in the room. "Oh, no. No, Paul. That's not it. It's not a vacation I need. All this — ■" Her hand, smooth, strong, live, beckoned the dark wood panels, the chromium, the mirrors, the pigskin and ebony, even the sun outside on red and orange and yellow flowers, she caught it all into the picture with a gesture that was art. "All this has been vacation to me. I must go — home." Cranshaw's voice seemed even quieter when he spoke. "That would be a laugh to the people who worked with you on 'Sandra Allen.' Calling it a vacation. But I think I understand, Mary. I know what homesickness is. But Mary — in your case, where is {Continued on page 54) 39