formal iron Victor responses of two days earlier.
He offered to leave as she opened the first of the two cardboard cartons in the attic to sort out what she would leave to be discarded and what she would retain, but she told him that was not necessary. She would enjoy his company. That sounded stranger to her than it did to him, because she had been so irritated with him on Monday. Irritated, yes-but also intrigued. There was no sense hiding that from herself. Mr. Victor Salsbury was certainly an interesting man, big and handsome, supposedly a creative artist, with a personality that suggested a past of much variety and perhaps illicitness. In a way, she felt like a foolish schoolgirl for nurturing fantasies; but then she had to admit he helped them grow with his strange manner.
As they talked now, sitting on the bare attic floor, she realized he had changed since she had seen him. Those short bursts of warmth that had broken his icy facade on Monday were now the dominant trait of his personality. Yet he was still not like other, men. She could touch him with her mind, delve into him, but only a short way. It seemed as if he was a man made of water, and that his outward appearance was merely the shimmering reflection of someone else.
When she could no longer pretend to be interested in the junk in the cartons, she was reluctant to bring up the other matter that had brought her here. This morning, when the banker, Hallowell, had told her what he had discovered, she had jumped at the chance to break the news to Salsbury. She had wanted to see the blood drain out of his face, had wanted to see him on the spot and stammering. Now, talking with him, her feminine interest had been stirred; now that he had opened himself to her on this new friendly basis, to break this news was almost too cruel. But she had no choice. She had spent a great deal of time talking Hallowell into letting her ask Salsbury about the news clipping. She had to go through with it now or look like an idiot in the banker's eyes. Mr. Hallowell asked me to give you this and ask you what it's all about, she said, presenting him with the clipping as they descended from the attic into the living room.
Victor looked at the headline and felt alarms banging in his head.
BODY IDENTIFIED AS THAT OF LOCAL ARTIST
He licked his lips, knowing what was coming next.
The Harrisburg City Police today conclusively identified a body discovered by River Rescue Monday evening along the Front Street fishing shelf. Analysis of garments and dental records show the deceased to be Victor L. Salsbury, a local commercial artist employed by
There's some mistake, he said, though he did not believe there had been the slightest mistake at all. I'm Victor L. Salsbury.
They say it was suicide, Lynda said. He was feeling dejected for weeks because of his inability to sell his creative work.
But I broke that barrier, Salsbury said lamely. I sold my creative work.
Mr. Hallowell is very upset. It appears, to him, that he just made a twenty-two thousand dollar loan to a man who is not who he claims to be.
Nonsense, he said. There's been a mistake here. I'll go into the city tomorrow and straighten it out. You can tell him that.
She looked at him for a long moment. You seemed to take that with less shock than I thought you would. I mean, when you read about yourself being dead, it should shake you up considerably. Victor are you really who you say you are?
Of course, he said, and laughed to prove it. Though he saw the laugh did not sound right to her. I'm Victor Salsbury. Of course I am.
He didn't sleep well that night. He spent the night thinking about a body dredged out of a river and tagged with his name. Was he really Victor Salsbury, or was Victor Salsbury a decaying
He offered to leave as she opened the first of the two cardboard cartons in the attic to sort out what she would leave to be discarded and what she would retain, but she told him that was not necessary. She would enjoy his company. That sounded stranger to her than it did to him, because she had been so irritated with him on Monday. Irritated, yes-but also intrigued. There was no sense hiding that from herself. Mr. Victor Salsbury was certainly an interesting man, big and handsome, supposedly a creative artist, with a personality that suggested a past of much variety and perhaps illicitness. In a way, she felt like a foolish schoolgirl for nurturing fantasies; but then she had to admit he helped them grow with his strange manner.
As they talked now, sitting on the bare attic floor, she realized he had changed since she had seen him. Those short bursts of warmth that had broken his icy facade on Monday were now the dominant trait of his personality. Yet he was still not like other, men. She could touch him with her mind, delve into him, but only a short way. It seemed as if he was a man made of water, and that his outward appearance was merely the shimmering reflection of someone else.
When she could no longer pretend to be interested in the junk in the cartons, she was reluctant to bring up the other matter that had brought her here. This morning, when the banker, Hallowell, had told her what he had discovered, she had jumped at the chance to break the news to Salsbury. She had wanted to see the blood drain out of his face, had wanted to see him on the spot and stammering. Now, talking with him, her feminine interest had been stirred; now that he had opened himself to her on this new friendly basis, to break this news was almost too cruel. But she had no choice. She had spent a great deal of time talking Hallowell into letting her ask Salsbury about the news clipping. She had to go through with it now or look like an idiot in the banker's eyes. Mr. Hallowell asked me to give you this and ask you what it's all about, she said, presenting him with the clipping as they descended from the attic into the living room.
Victor looked at the headline and felt alarms banging in his head.
BODY IDENTIFIED AS THAT OF LOCAL ARTIST
He licked his lips, knowing what was coming next.
The Harrisburg City Police today conclusively identified a body discovered by River Rescue Monday evening along the Front Street fishing shelf. Analysis of garments and dental records show the deceased to be Victor L. Salsbury, a local commercial artist employed by
There's some mistake, he said, though he did not believe there had been the slightest mistake at all. I'm Victor L. Salsbury.
They say it was suicide, Lynda said. He was feeling dejected for weeks because of his inability to sell his creative work.
But I broke that barrier, Salsbury said lamely. I sold my creative work.
Mr. Hallowell is very upset. It appears, to him, that he just made a twenty-two thousand dollar loan to a man who is not who he claims to be.
Nonsense, he said. There's been a mistake here. I'll go into the city tomorrow and straighten it out. You can tell him that.
She looked at him for a long moment. You seemed to take that with less shock than I thought you would. I mean, when you read about yourself being dead, it should shake you up considerably. Victor are you really who you say you are?
Of course, he said, and laughed to prove it. Though he saw the laugh did not sound right to her. I'm Victor Salsbury. Of course I am.
He didn't sleep well that night. He spent the night thinking about a body dredged out of a river and tagged with his name. Was he really Victor Salsbury, or was Victor Salsbury a decaying
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