Memorial Bridge

And now, another tale well calculated to keep you in. Memorial Bridge, written for suspend by William N. Roberton. It is officially called the Blackstone Overpass. But to me, it'll always be the Clara Adams Memorial Bridge.

Intender memory of my late, unlimited, and mysteriously departed wife. Clara was not smarter than I was. She was just older and richer. And she never gave me an opportunity to forget it. That you, Charlie? Yes, dear. What kept you? I stopped by the overpass job. You said you'd be home early. Yeah, I know, but I wanted to check on things

over there. They're ready to pour the cement for the main bridge piers tonight. That's nice? Nice. Yes, but it has nothing to do with the fact that you said you'd be home early. She'd been building up this sort of steam all day. But she got like this, it was nothing to do, Let her run down. I'd heard it all before, so I went into my room,

washed up, and got into some comfortable clothes. When I'd finished, I joined her in the kitchen. She was still there. Well, he had him. First you marry me and my money, and that sets you in business.

Then you get John Moran for a partner. He's forgotten more about the construction business than you'll ever know. Yes, you're a lucky man, Charlie. Where would you be without my money and John's brain? What are you doing in the kitchen?

It's Thursday. Oh, maid's day off, huh? That's right. Nobody home but us, huh? That's right, Kelly. Just you and me and our little honeymoon cottage. Scared, love a boy. Scared, for downfade. I won't expect you to act like a husband.