The Man in the Net Read Online Free

children like—like a-” She suddenly dropped into a chair, throwing her hands up to cover her face.
    “Oh, hell. Oh, hell. Oh, hell … .”
    “Linda!” Because he’d once again let himself be fooled and because he’d been idiotic enough to minimize the fact that the drink had started to work in her, all the affection had gone. He looked down at her, wearily, almost hating her.
    “You think you can paint!” Her voice came, husky with spite, through the covering hands. “There’s something I’ve never told you. I swore I’d never tell you. I shouldn’t be telling you now. You can’t paint. You’re no good at all. Everyone knows that—not just the critics —everyone. Ask anyone in Stoneville. Anyone at all. They all laugh at you. And they all laugh at me. You , they say,  you who are so charming, so bright …”
    She got up jerkily like a puppet. Not looking at him, still pouring out the babble of words, she started across the room.
    “You who’s so charming, so attractive. Why, in God’s name, have you saddled yourself with that crazy, untalented oaf who’s dragging you down as surely as you’re standing right there, who …”
    The words—the stale, dead words which he’d heard innumerable times before—fell on his nerves like water drops.
    “I could have married many other men. I could have married George Krasner, the president of the Krasner Model Agency. I could have married …”
    She was at the bar now. Casually, almost as if she wasn’t conscious of what she was doing, she was stooping down for the gin bottle.
    “Linda,” he called.
    She went on fumbling.
    “Linda,” he called again.
    She straightened, bristling with outraged hauteur.
    “Why are you shouting at me like that?”
    “Don’t,” he said. “For God’s sake, don’t.”
    “Don’t? Don’t—what? What on earth are you talking about?”
    “Linda, please. As a favor to me. You don’t have to start it. It won’t help.”
    “What won’t help?” Her face was scrawled now with astonishment and shock. “My God, you’re not accusing me of going to take a drink, are you? I was only arranging the bottles.”
    He didn’t say anything. He just stood with his arms dangling at his sides.
    “Well, are you?” Her voice tilted higher. “Is that how you’re going to justify yourself? I suppose you’ll say I had a drink in Pittsfield, just because some stupid, ignorant girl said some stupid, ignorant thing about my hair. Oh, you’re so clever. You know how to do it, don’t you? I’m here to tell you I haven’t had a drink for months. For that matter, there’s hardly been any time in my life when I drank anything more than—well, a couple of cocktails at a party or …”
    She gave a little whimper and ran across to him. She threw herself in his arms, pushing her face against his chest.
    “Oh, help me. Help me, John. Darling, help me.”
    It was a real cry from her heart. He knew it was. This wasn’t acting. But, as he put a hand on her waist, all he felt was the panic of an animal caught in a net.
    “It wouldn’t do any good,” he said, stroking her hair. “Going back to New York wouldn’t change anything.” “I’m so afraid.”
    “I know.”
    “I didn’t want to say all those things, John. I didn’t want to.”
    “I know.”
    “They weren’t true. Really they weren’t. I didn’t want to say them. Oh, John, if you’d help …”
    Hope, or an illusion of hope, stirred in him. He might as well try again anyway.
    He said, “If you’d talk to Bill MacAllister.”
    Her body, pressed against his, started to tremble. “No,” she said. “You can’t do that. You can’t do that to me. You can’t have them shut me up in a …”
    “You know it wouldn’t be anything like that. Bill? He’s an old friend. He’d understand …”
    “No. Don’t talk about it. No.” At least it had its secondary value of shocking her back. Her fingers, clinging to his shirt, relaxed. “I’m