Classicly

Agatha did not answer. She could not trust her voice. There was a mist before her eyes. She sat there thinking, thinking, thinking. It was just a year ago tonight that Dave, her husband, had parted from her in anger. Since then no word, no letter—nothing but endless conferences with that hideous lawyer, the unbearable condolences of well-meaning friends, the dull heart-ache, the thought of little Betty....