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postpone that hearing? I can't face it — lawyers wrangling over Tim while he's so ill."
He shook his head. "I'm afraid not. It's our bad luck that after this court session Judge DeWitt won't be back for another two weeks. It gives Cortland s lawyer a chance to argue against a postponement. Of course, your lawyer can ask for one. But he won't get it."
Nor did he. Bess, sitting near the railing on the day of the hearing, listened while the judge curtly overruled her attorney's motion for what he called a "continuance." And then Cortland's lawyer was on his feet, talking . . . talking. . . .
She couldn't listen, couldn't fix her mind on what he was saying. In all but body, she was in the hospital, waiting in the anteroom where she had spent so many tortured hours in the last three days. Waiting for news from Tim's room, for a sight of Robbie's anxious, thin face. For today, Robbie had said, might tell the story of whether Tim was to live or . . .
SHE even tried to think of the one pleasant thing that had happened — a letter from her younger sister, Linda, which had arrived that very morning. Linda was tired, she wrote, needed a rest, and wondered if she could come to Glendale and visit Bess for a while. Of course Bess had wired a quick assent, but the prospect of seeing Linda, which at any other time would have filled her with anticipation, now seemed strangely unimportant.
Steve Cortland was on the stand now, talking, answering questions, making the good impression that only he knew how to create. Slowly, from his words, there emerged a distorted picture of herself — that of a hysterical, neurotic woman, hiding the fact of his son's existence from him, stealing away with the child to out-of-theway Glendale. Bess clenched her hands, inwardly praying for strength to answer his lies as calmly as he spoke them.
Then Cortland had finished, and attorneys were whispering to each other while the close-packed courtroom sighed like one vast person. There was a stir at a side door into the room, and Bess saw Jerry Adair, one of the orphans whom she had left at the hospital with instructions to come for her if necessary. He caught her eye, beckoned to her with a folded slip of paper he held in his hand.
Forgetting everything but Tim's need of her, she rose and started toward him, just as someone called her name. Her attorney seized her arm.
"Miss Johnson! They're calling you. It's time for you to take the stand."
"I can't," she whispered desperately. "I'm needed at the hospital — ■ can't you see? They want me!"
"But you can't run away now. They'll award him the boy by default."
They were holding her, trying to stop her. An excited buzz rose in the courtroom, only partially quelled by the sharp rap of the judge's gavel; and the judge himself spoke.
"Will the defendant please take the stand so this hearing can proceed?"
With one final effort, Bess shook off the restraining hands, turned to the judge. Perhaps, if she could only make him understand.
"Your Honor — please — don't you see I can't stay? Tim needs me — how can I sit here and talk — argue about who's
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