"This is the address you gave me, lady. Sixty-seven Vine Street," the cab driver was saying. Sally shivered, remembering her husband's voice on the phone, remembering where she was ... "_Come to the office, Sally! Hurry, hurry--or it will be too late!_" Too late for what? Too late to recapture a happiness she had never possessed? "This is it, lady!" the cab driver insisted. "Do you want me to wait?" "No," Sally said, fumbling for her change purse. She descended from the taxi, paid the driver and hurried across the pavement to the big office building with its mirroring frontage of plate glass and black onyx tiles. The firm's name was on the directory board in the lobby, white on black in beautifully embossed lettering. White for hope, and black for despair, mourning ... The elevator opened and closed and Sally was whisked up eight stories behind a man in a checkered suit. "Eighth floor!" Sally whispered, in sudden alarm. The elevator jolted to an abrupt halt and the operator swung about to glare at her. "You should have told me when you got on, Miss!" he complained. "Sorry," Sally muttered, stumbling out into the corridor. How horrible it must be to go to business every day, she thought wildly. To sit in an office, to thumb through papers, to bark orders, to be a machine. Sally stood very still for an instant, startled, feeling her sanity threatened by the very absurdity of the thought. People who worked in offices could turn for escape to a cottage in the sunset's glow, when they were set free by the moving hands of a clock. There could be a fierce joy at the thought of deliverance, at the prospect of going home at five o'clock. But for Sally was the brightness, the deliverance withheld. The corridor was wide and deserted and the black tiles with their gold borders seemed to converge upon her, hemming her into a cool magnificence as structurally somber as the architectural embellishments of a costly mausoleum. She found the office with her surface mind, working at cross-purposes with the confusion and swiftly mounting dread which made her footsteps falter, her mouth go dry. _Steady, Sally! Here's the office, here's the door. Turn the knob and get it over with ..._ Sally opened the door and stepped into a small, deserted reception room. Beyond the reception desk was a gate, and beyond the gate a large central office branched off into several smaller offices. Sally paused only an instant. It seemed quite natural to her that a business office should be deserted so late in the afternoon. She crossed the reception room to the gate, passed through it, utter desperation giving her courage. Something within her whispered that she had only to walk across the central office, open the first door she came to to find her husband ... The first door combined privacy with easy accessibility. The instant she opened the door she knew that she had been right to trust her instincts. This was his office ...