‘Dave, this business about your house – that’s why I’m calling. You don’t seem to understand when I write to you. I can’t ever come to your house, Dave, not the way you want me to come.’
‘Naturally, I was thinking – you’d finally get a divorce.’
‘Dave, I don’t want a divorce. Can’t you understand that?’
He wet his lips. ‘Is he there with you? Now?’
‘No? Listen, Annabelle, would you like me to come to Hartford? Right now?’
‘No, Dave, that’s why I’m calling. How can I say it? You’ve got to stop writing me, Dave.
Dave is one sick puppy. I wonder which way this story will twist.