The Scarlet Letters Read Online Free PDF Page A

right, you see. Finally she became a lush, and that’s the way I remember my dear mother–a glassy-eyed hag reeking of lavender and old bourbon, staggering around the big house falling-down drunk.
    â€œThat’s what I grew up with.
    â€œI hated her, and I hated him.
    â€œSo maybe Martha is my mother, and I’m my father, or something. And I say to you, as I said to the gentlemen with the couches, ‘So what?’ Knowing where it comes from hasn’t changed a thing. I still get these uncontrollable attacks of jealousy. And I don’t mind admitting they scare the hell out of me.”
    Ellery got out of bed. He said, “Wait, Dirk, till I take my shower,” and he went into the bathroom.
    When he came out, rubbing his hair, he said, “How are you coming on your new novel?”
    Dirk stared. “I’m not.”
    Ellery began to dress. “Aren’t you working at all?”
    â€œI sit there eying my typewriter, and it eyes me right back, if that answers your question.”
    â€œMuch done?”
    â€œI got paralyzed on the excavation.”
    â€œWhat’s the matter, isn’t it any good?”
    â€œLordy, no. It’s colossal.” Dirk laughed.
    â€œAre you still interested in it?”
    â€œWhat is this, an offer for the first North American serial rights? The idea is as stimulating as it ever was. But I can’t seem to get back to it.”
    â€œHow about professional help?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œDirk, your personal problem is beyond me.” Ellery tied the second shoe. “If the skull doctors can’t do anything about it, I certainly can’t. All I can do is suggest a treatment I’ve found therapeutic in my own lunacies. It’s to get out of yourself. A writer does it by writing. Get all wrapped up in a writing problem and drive yourself day and night to fix it on paper.”
    â€œI can’t, I tell you. I’ve tried.”
    â€œLet’s have some breakfast,” said Ellery cheerfully. “I have an idea.”
    Nikki arrived for her secretarial day to find Inspector Queen gone, as usual, and Ellery staring out the window, not as usual.
    â€œWas that Dirk Lawrence I saw shuffling up 87th Street,” asked Nikki, “or an unreasonable facsimile thereof?”
    â€œNikki, grab yourself some coffee and sit down.”
    â€œYes?” said Nikki, not doing either.
    â€œDirk came up this morning to apologize for last night, and we had a long talk.” Ellery gave her a résumé of their conversation. Nikki was silent. “It’s obvious that he’s in the grip of a dangerous neurosis. I don’t like it, Nikki. I don’t like it at all.”
    â€œPoor Martha,” was all Nikki said.
    â€œYes.” Ellery began to stuff a pipe slowly. “For Martha, I’m afraid, the prospects are dim. I’m not sure that even if she left him she’d be in any better case. It might make matters worse at this stage of his phobia. But that’s academic. She won’t leave him, and we’ve got to jump off from that.”
    â€œYes,” said Nikki. “But what exactly are you afraid of?”
    â€œViolence, especially if Martha gives him provocation.”
    â€œHe wouldn’t!” Nikki sat down with clenched hands.
    â€œNikki, I’ve resorted to subterfuge. I’ve convinced Dirk that his most sensible course is to get back to work on his book.”
    â€œHe’ll never do it.”
    â€œThat’s what he said. But I think he will do it–or keep trying–if there’s someone with him constantly whom he likes and trusts, who’ll flatter and encourage him, take a living interest in what he’s doing. In other words, if there’s someone at his side to help with his work. The way, for instance, you help me.”
    Nikki said quietly, “You’re farming me out to Dirk Lawrence.”
    â€œWe’ve got to