'What God hath
joined together, let no man put asunder.'"
Martha wagged an energetic assent.
"Shoor! That certaintly lets _you_ out. But there ain't no mention made
o' _woman_ not bein' on the job, is there?"
She covered the narrow width of the hall in a couple of strides, and
beat her knuckles smartly against the panel of the opposite door.
By this time the baluster-railing, all the way up, was festooned with
white-clad tenants, bending over, looking down.
"Martha," protested Sam Slawson, "you're in your nightgown! You can't
go round like that! Everybody's lookin' at you!"
"Say, you--Mr. Langbein in there! Open the door. It's me! Mrs. Slawson!
Let me in!" was Martha's only reply. Her keen ear, pressed against the
panel, heard nothing in response but an oath, following another even
more ungodly sound, and then the choking misery of a woman's convulsive
sobs.
Mrs. Slawson set her shoulder against the door, braced herself for a
mighty effort, and--
"Did you ever see the like of her?" muttered Sam, as, still busy
fastening the garments he had hurriedly pulled on, he followed his wife
into the Langbeins' flat, into the Langbeins' bedroom.
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