a blunt old curmudgeon — and my lettersare blunt enough. I can’t soften things. But I’m a snivelling coward when it comes to telling a woman face to face that she’s got to die soon. I told her I’d look up some features of the case I wasn’t quite sure of and let her know next day. But you got her letter — look here, “Dear Miss S-t-e-r-l-i-n-g.’“

“Yes. I noticed that. But I thought it a mistake. I didn’t know there were any Sterlings in Port Lawrence.”

“She was the only one. A lonely old soul. Lived by herself with only a little home girl. She died two months after she was here — died in her sleep. My mistake couldn’t have made any difference to her. But you! I can’t forgive myself for inflicting a year’s