speed dating short film - Sexchatbook

She put out a hand toward it, yet her fingers were almost reluctant to grasp it. What these envelopes contained she never had known. After receiving one--one came every month or two--he was irritable, at times almost ugly. At first she had questioned him, had striven to soothe and comfort him; but she soon had learned that this only made him angry, and of late she had avoided any mention of them.


She hung her hat and her coat in the closet and went to stand before the hall mirror to pin up the soft strands of hair that the wind had loosened.

She did not really see the pale face with its blunt nose, the slender, almost childish figure in its grown-up black dress, or the big brown eyes that looked back at her.

Half an hour later her cab could not have got through the rising water, and there was no alternative route. All the way home-she had been visiting her sister-she had seen herself going into a lighted house, to Ben, who would be sitting by the fire with his paper.

She had taken delight in picturing his happy surprise at seeing her, home a week earlier than he had expected her.

She inserted her key in the lock and turned the knob.

The March wind snatched the door out of her hand and slammed it against the wall.She froze there, not breathing, still half-bent toward the cold fireplace, her hand still extended. The face at the window had been an illusion, a trick of the light reflected on the sluicing pane; and the sound of footsteps was an illusion, too. The storm was held at bay beyond these walls, and in the morning the sun would shine again.The glimmer of white at the window behind the sheeting blur of rain had been--she was sure of it--a human face. She was certain there had been eyes staring in at her. She shivered and pulled Ben's coat tighter about her and told herself she was becoming a morbid fool. Her ears strained to hear prowling footsteps outside the windows. Actual ones would be inaudible in the noise made by the wild storm. The thing to do was to make herself as comfortable as possible and settle down with a book.She had known just how his round face would light up, how his eyes would twinkle behind his glasses, how he would catch her by the shoulders and look down into her face to see the changes a month had made in her, and then kiss her resoundingly on both cheeks, like a French general bestowing a decoration.Then she would make coffee and find a piece of cake, and they would sit together by the fire and talk. She looked at the clock on the mantel and saw it was nearly ten.The wind's shout took on a personal, threatening note. She became convinced that she did hear them, slow and heavy. There was no use going to bed--she couldn't possibly sleep.

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