Chilling and listening to good stuff

The mystery behind "her lover"

I entered her apartment. I looked round. She was sitting at the table, leaning on her elbows, with her head in her hands. "Listen to me," I said. Now, whenever I come to this point in my story, I always feel horribly awkward and idiotic. Well, well! "Listen to me," I said. She leaped from her seat, came towards me with flashing eyes, and laying her hands on my shoulders, began to whisper, or rather to hum in her peculiar bass voice: "Look you, now! It's like this. There's no Boles at all, and th...