The Dark Descends Read Online Free PDF Page A

woman. If indeed this was C. Bancroft.
    Doubt was immediately dispelled. "I—got—your—note." the woman said. Her voice was thin and high-pitched, like a little girl's, and she took short breaths between words. "I'm Charlotte Bancroft," she added, the words flowing normally.
    "How do you do?"
    "How do you do?" Joyce returned. Just like a parrot.
    What next? No clue from Charlotte Bancroft, who was clearly waiting. For what? She was the one who had sought the interview; surely she had a reason. Perhaps she was shy.
    Joyce ventured a faint smile, Encouragement. Also to keep herself from showing pity, an emotion this woman would evoke as a matter of course. She stood six feet if she stood an inch, and if she wasn't as thin as a broomstick she wasn't much thicker. The right clothes might have helped, but hers—a gray tweed suit of a cut long outmoded, with padded hips, and a long circular skirt that sagged at the hem; stiletto-heeled brown pumps with pointed toes—were all wrong. Getup for a costume party was the thought that came to mind, only to be driven out by the certainty that a costume party or any other kind of party would be out of bounds for anyone so devoid of attractions as this. Poor creature.
    And yet the woman wasn't really ugly. Her face was too thin, and her mouse-colored, baby-fine hair had been tormented into frizzy curls by a God-awful permanent, but her features were acceptable enough. The pale-blue eyes, wide awake and observant, not dull and glazed as eyes that shade of blue often were, could have been a definite asset, with strategic use of makeup, the features that weren't so good—" the narrow nose with a rather insipid upward tilt, the thin, pursed lips, the slightly receding chin, the overly long neck—could have been—
    "I—stopped by to—to apologize," Charlotte Bancroft said.
    Joyce abandoned her mental inventory. Who did she think she was—Elizabeth Arden? "That isn't really necessary."
    "Oh, but it is. I kept you awake." The thin lips parted in a smile, baring protruding out-sized upper front teeth—a rabbit's teeth. A pointed pink tongue darted out from under them, moistened the upper lip, moistened the lower lip, retreated. "That's what your note said. That my radio kept you awake."
    "Well, as a matter of fact, it woke me up. Out of a sound sleep. You had the volume turned up so high that—"
    "I'm very, very sorry. I can't tell you how sorry I am. I know the radio bothers people sometimes. You're not the first to complain about it. But you see, listening to it relaxes me so I can get to sleep. Sometimes I drop tight off while it's playing." There was a plaintive note in Charlotte Bancroft's voice; her head inclined forward on its long stalk of neck. "You do see, don't you?"
    "Of course. But if you could just lower—"
    "I knew you'd understand. I could tell that the minute I looked at you. But I mustn't be unreasonable." A profound sigh, suggesting that additional burdens were being heaped upon shoulders already bearing too many. "I guess I'll just have to do without the radio from now on."
    "There's no need to deprive yourself entirely. I'm not all that sensitive to noise. If you keep the volume at a moderate—"
    "Oh, thank you." Breathless. The expression in the blue eyes was pure spaniel-receiving-bone. "I'11 make a real effort to keep it low. I promise. I realize people have to sleep at— What time was it that I woke you?"
    "Four o'clock."
    "That late? Really?" The blue eyes widened; became almost round. "I'm so very sorry. I can't tell you how sorry I am for waking you up like that. After you had all that company, too. You must have been all tuckered out. And you probably had to get up bright and early to go to work, didn't you?"
    "Well, I—"
    "Oh, but that's a personal question. Mustn't ask personal questions." A guilty little giggle, and Charlotte Bancroft brought a finger up to seal her lips, brought it down. "I do hope I haven't offended you." Once again her head