Hesnatchedhishatfromthetableandstrodetothedoor。
Turning，helookedather。
“Allright，“hesaidchokingly。“Allright。Good-by。“
Hisstepssoundedontheoilclothofthekitchen。Thenthebackdoorslammed。Hewasgone。
Keziahstarted，asiftheslamofthedoorhadbeenanelectricshock。Duringtheinterviewshehadbeenpaleandgravebutoutwardlycalm。Nowshesankwearilydowninthechairfromwhichshehadrisenandherheaddroppedforwarduponherarmsonthetable。ThelettershehadbeenreadingbeforeCaptainNat’sarrivalfellfromherwaisttothefloorandlaythere，itsbadlyspelledandblottedlinesshowingblackandfatefulagainstthewhitepaper。Andshecried，tearsofutterlonelinessanddespair。