And you at me, for doing this or that. And yet I think no man or woman acts Without a certain logic in the act Of nature or of circumstance.
Look here, This letter to the lawyer. Will it do? I think so. If it brings the letters--well! If not, I'll get them somehow, it must be, I loved her, faults and all, and so did you....
So while Jane Fisher pondered on her duty, But didn't write the letter to the lawyer, Who had the charge of Elenor Murray's letters, The lawyer, Henry Baker, in New York Finds great perplexity. Sometimes a case Walks in a lawyer's office, makes his future, Or wrecks his health, or brings him face to face With some one rising from the mass of things, Faces and circumstance, that ends his life. So Henry Baker took such chances, taking The custody of these letters.
James Rex Hunter Is partner of this Baker, sees at last Merival and tells him how it was With Baker at the last; he died because Of Elenor Murray's letters, Hunter told The coroner at the Waldorf. Dramatized His talk with Lawyer Baker in these words:--
HENRY BAKER, AT NEW YORK
One partner may consult another--James, Here is a matter you must help me with, It's coming to a head.
Well, to be plain, And to begin at the beginning first, I knew a woman up on Sixty-third, Have known her since I got her a divorce, Married, divorced, before--last night we quarreled, I must do something, hear me and advise.
She is a woman notable for eyes Bright for their oblong lights in them; they seem Like crockery vases, rookwood, where the light Shows spectrally almost in squares and circles. Her skin is fair, nose hooked, of amorous flesh, A feaster and a liver, thinks and plans Of money, how to get it. And this husband Whom she divorced last summer went away, And left her to get on as best she could. All legal matters settled, we went driving-- This story can be skipped.