Well, she thought, with eleven hundred dollars, I’ll get by. I came to this goddam City with nothing… at least, I am leaving with something.
She went into the tiny hail and snatched up her coat. There was a Greyhound bus due in five minutes. She could just make it to Miami. Once there, she could drop out of sight. She started for the front door.
“Sheila!”
She paused and looked at Tom as he stood in the doorway.
“I’m going… . so long, Cheapie, and thanks for nothing,” she said and jerked open the door.
“He’s dead,” Tom said. “Do you hear? He’s dead!”
“What do you expect me to do… bury him?” Sheila asked and started down the path.
She half ran, half walked towards the bus stop, carrying her death in her handbag.
The End
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Document ID: 1db98c56-c46f-4587-a502-826e194bc55f
Document version: 1.1
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Well Now, My Pretty… Page 19