"Of what?" I asked.
"Look at your so-called story and see. If this is a practical joke,
Thurlow, it's a damned poor one."
I opened the envelope and took from it the sheets I had sent you--
twenty-four of them.
_They were every one of them as blank as when they left the paper
-mill!_
You know the rest. You know that I tried to speak; that my utterance
failed me; and that, finding myself unable at the time to control my
emotions, I turned and rushed madly from the office, leaving the
mystery unexplained. You know that you wrote demanding a
satisfactory explanation of the situation or my resignation from
your staff.
This, Currier, is my explanation. It is all I have. It is absolute
truth. I beg you to believe it, for if you do not, then is my
condition a hopeless one. You will ask me perhaps for a _resume_ of
the story which I thought I had sent you.
It is my crowning misfortune that upon that point my mind is an
absolute blank. I cannot remember it in form or in substance. I have
racked my brains for some recollection of some small portion of it
to help to make my explanation more credible, but, alas! it will not
come back to me.
Pages:
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