Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1931-03-08

to knock the thing out of her hand. That's
about ALL"
And you testified she did it in self-defense?"
THAT was mostly because wanted to get
over the whole mess as quickly as could"
do you still love her?"
ST never did. 1 only thought she was beauti%
full and that's different"
G "Oh."
Sobbie suddenly got up and clutched her coat
about her hips. I've got to go now she said.
CHE arrived at the Office 10 minutes early next
morning ALI night she had tossed on her
pillow trying to think of the announcement
which must be written for the first edition 1t
was to be two-column box on the first page
focusing interest on Honeys life story. to begin
tomorrow.
Exactly 40 minutes remained before the first
edition deadline. She ran sheet of copy
paper into the typewriter and went through the
nervous fumblings Of concentration
She looked about the room-at Bob reclining
in swivel chair with unbuttoned vest at the
copy-readers tapping their pencils amid cloud
of cigarette smoke, at Dobbs pushing an enor-
nous blue pencil The bitter reflections of her
sleepless night came wildly back to mind and
she wrote:
I'VE. That is, the editorial we. We aren't so
smart and cocxsure behind colored glasses
we think we are. Our f1ippancy is a pose
to hide sentimentalty laziness masks the
Question: Do we shape our readers or do
our readers shape us? I don't know about
that, but for me, I'm getting darn sick of
being we I'd rather be beautiful and have an
emerald"
In disgust she ripped the paper from the
machine and tore it into small pieces She
compressed her lips and ran new sheet into
the typewriter. Only 80 minutes left. She
began whacking the keys viciously:
BY Honey Simpson Tomorrow I begin
the story of my life exclusively for the readers
of the Argus. Each word has been wrung from
my heart as the tears have been wrung from
my eyes during these last tragic weeks. But
feel that the agony of self-revelation will not
have been In vain #"
At precisely this instant Sobbie knew that
abe could never keep on. She knew she could
never write the 10 or IL installments of Honey's
confessions And she knew, furthermore that
this one time she was going to write what she
felt:
THE agony of self-revelation will not have
been in vain If can save some young man
from bullets and sentimental jurors AS YOU
can see from the pseudo literary style adopted
BY my sobbing ghost my mental age is about
eleven. am usually harmless, however except
when do not get my own way Then shoot
Words like tigerish have been used to ex-
plain me, but that is mistake am not even
primitive. am merely weak unimaginative
cold half-hearted, defiant, and the smoke from
my automatic pistol hides for a moment all the
intelligence, freedom, passion and courage with
which other women have fought for"
Sobbie drew long, trembling breath
Whats the matter, kid?" Bob wsv staring
ct her. "You look queer"
The anxiety in his voice robbed her of her
last reserve. Her head dropped She tried to
speak carelessly "Only Is minutes left and
can't write that two-column box"
He called Eames:
Something the matter with Sobbie. You
got to write her announcement"
Sobbie stared at the torn pieces of paper on
the floor What could she tell Dobbs? If he
questioned her and If she broke down before the
whole city room