.. I'll take her to Italy, away from all the mess that has
cluttered about our love for each other."
* * * * *
One day, in an effort to keep the house warm--the one room I confined
myself to, rather,--I stoked the stove so hot that the stovepipe grew
red to the place where it went through the roof into the attic....
My mind, at the time, was in far-off Galilee. I was on the last scene of
the last act of my play ... the disciples, after the crucifixion, were
gathered in the upper room again, waiting for the resurrected Christ to
appear to take the seat left vacant for Him....
I looked up from the page over which my frosty fingers crawled....
The boards were smoking faintly. If I didn't act quickly the house would
catch fire ... I laughed at the thought of the curious climax it would
present to the world; I imagined myself among the embers.
I must lessen the heat in the stove. I ran and brought in a bucket of
water. I pried open the red-hot door of the stove with a stick that
almost caught flame as I pried.
With a backward withdrawal, a forward heave, I shot the contents of the
pail into the stove....
There followed a detonation like a siege gun.
The stove-lid shot so close to my head it was no joke ... it took out
the whole window-sash and lit in the outside snow. The stove itself,
balanced on bricks under its four feet, slumped sidewise, fortunately
did not collapse to the floor .
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