Jonas selected a small key from the bunch
and, opening a large leather portfolio, he took out the black diary.
This he placed carefully on the folding table which stood at Enoch's
elbow. Then he started toward the door.
The Secretary did not look up. Nor did he heed the colloquy which took
place at the door between Jonas and Abbott.
"How is he, Jonas?"
"I ain't asked him. He's a sick man."
"God! Let me come in, Jonas."
"No, sir, you ain't! How come you think you kin talk to him when even
I don't dast to?"
"But he mustn't be alone, Jonas."
"He ain't alone. I left him with his Bible. Ain't nobody going to
trouble him this night."
"I didn't know he read the Bible that way." Abbott's voice was
doubtful.
"I don't mean the regular Lord's Bible. It's a book he's been writing
for years and he always turns to it when he's in trouble. I don't know
nothing about it. What he don't want me to know, I don't know," and
Jonas slammed the door behind him.
It was late when Enoch suddenly straightened himself up and, with an
air of resolution, opened the black book. He uncapped his fountain pen
and wrote:
"Diana, how could I know, how could I dream that such a thing could
happen to you, through me! You must never come back to Washington.
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