Eddie Willers glanced at her with a look of bitterly patient
astonishment, and stepped closer to her side. A radio receiver was
playing a program of military marches broadcast from another
studio, half-drowning the fragments of nervous voices, of hastily
aimless steps, of screeching machinery being pulled to focus upon
the drawing-room set.
"Stay tuned to hear Mr. Thompson's report on the world crisis at
eight P.M.!" cried the martial voice of an announcer, from the radio
receiver-when the hand on the dial reached the hour of 7:45, "Step
on it, boys, step on it!" snapped Mr. Thompson, while the radio
burst into another march.
