"So I'll even dare ask you: just where is the mercy, the rationale, the loving-kindness, in an ethical-religious system that makes me a whore bound for hell because I love you and welcome intercourse with you and want to live with you? "I want to see you tomorrow, Jimmy. You spoke of having to work late because of Miss Anderson's being out sick--may I come there in the evening, just to see you for a few minutes? I'll be well-behaved (I hope). There are one or two other things--things even I don't care to scrawl on paper. If you call and say I mustn't come, of course I won't, but--please? "For the first time in our experience I shall be listening for the phone and hoping you don't call. 'How do I love thee? Let me count the ways'--I can't, I can't. "Callista." The third letter, members of the jury, is again from Callista Blake to James Doherty. It is dated June 25th, just a week later than the one I last read, and was addressed, like the other two, to Mr. Doherty at his office. It reads as follows: "Jimmy-- "Didn't you say you would call me Monday evening? What happened? I remember you said you would be tied up over the week end--if only my silly hungry arms had been the rope to tie you!--well, so I counted the hours to Monday evening, and glued myself to the phone, but no Jimmy. I know I mustn't call your house--you needn't have reminded me of that, last Friday! Tuesday, though, I did try to call you at the office--I'm sorry, Jimmy, I know you didn't want me to, but I was miserable, I had to try to reach you somehow--but you were out, anyway Mr. Judd answered the phone and said you were, and he sounded so chilly--am I a black cat across his path or something?--I didn't know he disliked me. What's happening, Jimmy? Could be purely my nerved-up imagination. But all week, no Jimmy. Couldn't you at least have got as far as a phone booth? Oh hell, I'm writing like a sniveling brat. "Lately I've been having too many morbid thoughts. I know I behaved badly Friday evening--you didn't want anything to get started, and I had to act like a whining bitch in heat. You should know there's more to me than that--I guess you do, I guess you do. Well, since that evening I've now and then thought of us--I even dreamed something of the kind--as if we were no wiser than a pair of kids slipping out behind the barn to study the difference between a boy and a girl--with peevish grown-ups likely to come around the corner of the building any minute. I've lost some of the dream--I think we did get caught and stood there frozen waiting for the wrath. Only the boy in the dream wasn't quite you. Be jealous, damn you.