The Waterbury Democrat., 1935-11-15
BY e. o. COLER

The ordinary evening sounds of the boarding house had almost died away, the laughter from the parlor, the dull taps from down the hall where sister act was rehearsing, the forlorn scraping wall of the vio- lin from the third floor front, the belated rattle of dishes in the kite chen below.
 Marcia sat on the edge of the bed, Q bridge table open before her with writing materials upon 1t, and looked back over ten years of her life as she nibbled abstractly at the end of her penholder. Ten years of hope, of waiting |. for what?
 The cheap little alarm clock tick ing away upon the dresser seemed to her to symbolize her life, a tawdy but useful thing moving me- chanically through time, changing very little except in age.
 The thin, sharp slice of moon which she could see above the roof of the house next door brought to her Q sense of longing for some bit of beauty in her life instead of grinding duly away year after year in classroom, keeping in her heart the image of someone who had gone away long years ago, too shy to assert his love, and hoping. ...
 Her head bent over the paper, and the lines formed themselves on the blank sheet: Dear Lonely Heart" Rapidly she wrote, as if fearful of not being able to finish the letter. Then she quickly folded 1t and placed 1t in an envelope ad- dressed to Q box number in Q near. by city.
 "Therel You've done it now, Marcia" she told herself. "The old maids revoltl" She smiled half ironically at her image in the dresser mirror. But even that did not prevent e flush from tinging her cheeks at her temerity. She hurried down to the corner mailbox and quickly dropped the fateful let- ter lest her resolve weaken.
 And then one afternoon as she reached home there was Q letter waiting for her. She picked it up from the table at the foot of the stairs and saw the postmark.
 It was from her unknownl She went to her room with elaborately careful decorun, although she wanted to racve madly up the stairs, and opened the letter, her eyes rap- idly devoured the contents.
 Dear Miss Henderson" 1t be- ban. Like you, I, too, have suf- fered a great disappointment years ago. I went away and when I re- turned the girl was gone, and I never found her. But that was many years ago, and since have been too busy to worry about women at all. Now, have Q comfortable sum of money and am still young, and de- sire an understanding companion. And so I am answering your let- ter. ."
 Marcia left Q wave of compassion for this MT. K" Too well she knew the soaring agony of loneli- ness. She thought over the letter for 6 long while and then got her paper and ink out of the dresser drawer.
 Dear Lonely Heart" she wrote q call you that because you haven't as yet told me your name. But tt doesn't matter very much, does it7 I am sure that we could become very good friends, for there seems to be bond of similarity between us. Perhaps if you could manage some Saturday, when I am not obliged to teach, to come here and we could talk things over. ." Mar cia considered carefully, and asked him to set the date in his next letter.
 How different, thought Marcia, to conduct an affair as one would manage Q business deal, with such clear apprehension of cause and eff feet. She remembered and contrast. ed with the present the sterile plans Richard and she had made and with what exquisite uncertainty al ltheir foiled endeavorings to ua- derstand each other had been tinged. A moments unsureness touched her. Could she ever care for anyone else with her memories of him? She wondered.
 A week later the now familiar handwriting greeted her eyes as