Death

This is your host to welcome you once again into the inner sanctu... Come in, come on in.

Just finish my spring garden, plant it a couple of dozen of bulb heads, but I'm sure they won't be content to stay in their new loans. That's how things are here behind the clicking door. Whatever goes down must come up at night.

Oh, by the way, folks, I want you to meet our laughing ghost. We call him silly Willie, because it's easy to tickle his fantasy. But Willie's not really so silly when it comes to getting rid of his mates.

The first one left him because he started each day by beating her over the head with a club. Well, naturally, she got sick and tired of such treatment. And his second wife, a brunette, had a much more interesting conclusion.

Willy buried her head in the sand at the ocean front. Now she's a beached blonde. It can make itself felt in an almost hidden, quiet sort of way. Just as it did that rainy Monday morning with Sam and Helen Brayton worth breakfast in a small suburban home. The Braden sat in the kitchen, looked near the window, the same

as they'd done for twenty years. But still, this morning, things were not quite the same. Sam, you've just been sitting there staring out the window. You haven't touched your breakfast. I'm not hungry, Helen. You didn't sleep last night, did you?

A little on and off. You're just wearing yourself sick over nothing. Our business is bound to get better. There's no use kidding you any longer. The store is on its last legs. The bank refused me the loan.