 With all purposes, these songs do their part to offset the thousand and one tragedies both great and small. Perhaps we employ these songs for a definite reason. Perhaps the subconscious is trying to lift us above the shambles and remnants of sorrow by this mechanism of healing. But when the songs are no more, when they fade and die, we are preyed to ugly harmonies that bear no relationship to song. They play across our minds like the discordant cacophony of pounding hammers upon metal, pounding, pounding, pounding day and night in the brain. And so, in just a moment, to our story starring Miss Merriam Hopkins. Within her mind. Her great. Do you miss Scott? Please. Oh, please. Oh, listen, Miss Carter, you're taking your husband up to New London for burial, aren't you? Can't you please let me alone even now? Or do your reporters have to do this to me today? Sorry, Miss Carter, we're all sorry, to be honest, but you're here, you see? We've got to ask you these things. Oh, it doesn't matter. What do you want to know? We won't bother you after this, not till you marry again or something. Marry again? You think you'll ever marry another man, Miss Carter? I wish I never had to see or speak to a man again as long as I live. Gee, that's good topic. Have you heard from Gloria Dane, Miss Carter? No. How do you feel, daughter? She's crippled for life, you know? If she doesn't concern me, I don't know her. Didn't you ever meet her? No. You've seen her in musical shows, haven't you? No. Please, I've got to get on the train. Just one more, Miss Carter. You had no idea your husband, David, was interested in Gloria, huh? No. You thought he still loved you? Yes, I thought so. If it will thrill your readers, put it in. Well, please, I... Yeah, I got you, ma'am. Can't you let the lady go in the car? Can't you see she's faint? Oh, who? The train conductor. Hold her up. Boy, what a shot. Thanks. I'm all right now. Now, wait a second, Miss Carter. Just one more. Do you still love David? Well, you ought to keep your reporters away from these trains. You haven't answered, Miss Carter. Do you still love your husband? I loved what I thought was my husband, not the one ahead in the baggage car. Oh, boy! Now, goodbye. No, thank you. Oh, I didn't expect to see you. I thought you might be on this train. I'm up ahead. I was walking through to see if I could find you. May I, uh... may I sit down, Laura? You know how terribly sorry I am. Yes, I know. Thank you, Jane. Were you going up to New London anyway? Well, I...wired Mother this morning that I'd come home to the weekend. I never thought I'd be going up to New London. I thought a lot of David, so... Yes. It seems that great many people did. Would you rather I didn't talk about it? No, I suppose I'll have to get used to it. People talking, I mean. You've suffered horribly, haven't you? You stood up with a scumbul in mind, didn't you? Ten years ago, that month wasn't it? Yes. Ten years ago. We never saw a great deal of each other in New York, but... It wasn't intentional. She did not seem to want to be just together. At least, I thought so. But in the summers in New London, it was different. We saw you there. It was made out, Sam, to come up to Houston next month. Well, we won't be there. David loved you. Did he? You'll know that. You'll know that he did. I thought so, but I was wrong. It's difficult for you now, this shock of the accident. Well, I suppose you didn't know anything about her. I never knew such a person existed until the police phoned me. The next day, I learned plenty from her story in the papers and the soft sisters and the reporters at the seats. Poor Laura. I've always read about Dunwild, and I've laughed and felt so secure. I never knew I was just a dumb wife myself. You weren't dumb. You were decent and loyal. That didn't get me much, David. I can't bear to hear you talk like that. It doesn't like you, Laura. It is, now. But there must be some other side to the story. I know David loved you. David was devoted when he was with me. I say that over and over. Who could I have been without Dunwild? And then I say, how could I have been otherwise? There wasn't the slightest change in our relationship from the first eight years. Maybe there were some, oh, men are different than women were. We're all human, aren't we? Is there any reason why men should be less decent than women? I'm not trying to excuse him. I'm trying to understand. No matter what has happened, David, was fundamentally a fine man. There must be more to this than when you found out. If you could realize that he did love you, with helping out, he's gone, wouldn't it? Oh, no, it wouldn't. Do you think it matters to me whether a love's so worthless and so weak? Do you think it matters now whether that love was sincere or not? Yes, I think it does. You worship him. No. I worshipped what I thought he was. This trip to New London ends it all forever. You mustn't become hard like this. You've always been gentle and kind and so full of fun. My fun evidently wasn't fun enough for him. Laura, can't you try to think of the beautiful things that you had together? No, I've forgotten them. They're wiped out forever. I don't think so, dear. You don't know? I know how happy you both were when my baby came. Oh, dear, don't. Please. You can't forget things like that, Laura. And what happened? I know. You lost her. I thought I'd die when that happened. David put his own misery in the background so as to help you through your grief. They say things are not to be. Maybe my baby was never meant to live through this grace of a father. David wasn't selfish, Laura. He needed you then. But as soon as you were strong enough, he insisted on your trip to Bermuda. Do you remember? I remember everything. Why were you away down there? David was so tragic, so desperately alone. Well, he got over it, didn't he? He met heaven. We were all so happy when you came back and you started to smile and be your old self again. Can't you realize now how all of us, all our new London crowd are loving you now? Wanting to help you. Still loving David too. I know. I know how kind you all would be, but I want to break clean from everything. Won't you come over to the house, Laura? I've turned mother before I left New York. She wants you to come. Thank you for coming. I can't bear to see you. Are you planning on remaining for a while? No, I want to get rid of the summer house. I'm going back to New York tonight. Friends, help, Laura. No. There would be too many men. I don't want to pass the school we attended. I don't want to go by the church where we were married. I don't want ever to see our house again. Look at the boats on the water where we sailed. I don't want to meet the people we played with or were brought up with. I want just one thing. What? I'll plan it all out. I shall leave you here and never come back. I don't plan to go back to our apartment or go to a hotel. I'm going to wipe out every connection and every thought of the past ten years. Poor foolish, Laura. No one can wipe out ten years of their lives. I can. You think so, but you'll become bitter and cold and hard. You'll build a wall around your pride and your anger, around your hurt and your grief. At least they'll be hidden. No, they won't. The wall of that sort is like a hot house. It makes the worthless plants grow and thrive until they, well, they choke out all the sweet natural tender ones. Maybe that's what I want. Maybe for my good. Maybe a woman should be hard for self-protection. You can never do that. Can't you try to remember the good things, the happy things? Give them all your attention. Neglect this one unfortunate happening of yours. As time goes on, you'll find that even the memory of it is gone. He lied to me. Even the day he was killed, he left a note on my dresser that morning. In it, he wrote that he loved me, that I was all that mattered. It may have been true. I think it was. Then he went out with her and was killed in a drunken auto crash. Fire and love. He was sober when he wrote you the note. Why do you defend him? You wanted to marry me once yourself. Yes, I did, but you chose David. I suffered then, Laura, but I didn't let it lick me, and I gained two good friends, you and David. Pardon, Mrs. Carter? Yes. We're coming into New London. Oh, always. Oh, thank you. Laura drives a thorn into Laura's mind, and she thinks about the ugly death of her husband. One pounding thought. That of her husband. Another hammer stroke. The other woman in his life. For him to have shared his life with this woman is as bitter as a cup of hemlock. And as poisonous, the song is ended. But the rhythm goes on pounding into a deep obsession. He returned to our story. New London, Connecticut. Moves slowly up to the Kim Randall, who has been their closest friend for years, stands at her side, wanting to comfort her and to help her obliterate this affection. Goodbye, Jim. You've been very thoughtful, the trade in all. I couldn't... No, no, no, I'm coming with you. You can't be alone now. Oh, driver, say this to the nearest forest shop, will you? I don't want any flowers, Jim. David loves them. He boasts them, remember? You two were pretty crazy over that rose garden, Laura. Do you mind if I get some for him? Oh, have you the right to say no? Stop, driver. Here's the flowers. Oh, Jim, look in the window. They're beautiful, aren't they? White roses. I'm going in. I want to get some for him, myself. Jim alone on his grave. No, there only would have wanted them. Jim. What is it, Laura? With you. With you break off one of the roses for me. Now I can take something. You needn't come in with me, I'll be all right. Goodbye. Goodbye, Laura. C-11. Here you are. Thank you. Will you lower the shade, please? Car's about him, too. Wouldn't you like to sit on the other side? He won't get the afternoon sun over here. Very well, I will. Perhaps you'd like this pillow. Yes, please. Oh, conductor. Here, here's my ticket. I don't want to be disturbed. Are you getting off at 125th or Grand Central? Grand Central. I'll call you when it's time. Thank you. Can't stay long, you know, but I had you all awake, dear. It's my love that got me through, and we loved each other. You were in the rose garden, and you picked a white rose, and put it in my hair. And you gave me white roses today. When you gave me those, I knew there was a chance. Every anniversary you sent me white roses. Because every anniversary I loved you more. That's why each year the roses were more in numbers. I know. I used to ask you why, and even last because of so many, that you only kissed me. I never told you why. You got one white rose away with you, didn't you, Laura? Won't you? I just couldn't help it. How long did you go on having it in you? No, dear, please. No matter what I did to you, please go on drinking my girl. The girl was said yes in the rose garden. Listen, Gloria, you loved her, David. You loved her. Oh, no, I never loved her. She said so. She told the reporters, two years of this. Two years of trying to get out of a sorted mess. Two years of getting in deeper. But I never loved her. Remember the time you went to Bermuda? Yes. The girl... I missed you, Laura. I went to a cocktail party. I drank too much. I met her. And you fell in love with her? No. She liked me. I was flattered. But I was your wife. I loved you. Then she asked me to dine at her place. I was lonely and again flattered. I went. But I came back in two weeks. And I was in a mess. And loved her? Then I was fatuated for a while. I grew to hate her. Why didn't you break off? Why didn't you tell me? Oh, I couldn't. I was ashamed and afraid. Did she love you, David? No. I had money, position. She wanted that. Oh, you told me I would have understood. I wish I had. It went on and things got worse. She threatened to sue me. I'd send her foolish letters when we were home that summer, two years ago. I couldn't buy them back. She wanted everything. I left you the note, class. Choose your mind. I found it after you'd gone to the office. It was true, Laura. It said, I love you, dear. I've always loved you. No one has ever meant anything to me but you. You're a foolish husband, David. You're a foolish husband, David. I thought it was more of your sweet nonsense. I laughed all day whenever I thought of it. Did the police phone you that I was killed? Yes. And then she told the reporters everything. I thought we'd both go. I never knew that would happen. You mean... I mean, I ran the car over that embankment deliberately. She was going on with a suit unless I... I'd ask you for a divorce. David! Forgive me, Laura. Faced it all and come to you with the truth. I just stood by you, David. I would have... I know that. I wanted you no matter what you've done. And you'll always have me, dear, if you'll believe in my love. The day when I passed that floor shop, our shop, darling, where we used to go, I knew then I did love you. There were white roses in the window. Tim was with me. We went in and bought all he had for you. Oh, my dear. I must go now, Laura. Oh, don't leave me. I won't, dear, let me come back. How can I? My love and forgiveness, everything else that happened will vanish. And, Laura. Yes? Be kind to Jim. He talked to me so wisely, David. I tried to fight, but what he said went deeper than he knew. He was our friend. He is our friend, and he loves you. I don't want you to go on alone now. That could... There's only love where I am. And this love knows no selfishness. This love knows only the good, those we love. Goodbye for a while, my darling. This is New York. Oh, oh, thank you. She was sleeping mighty soundly. Sleepy? Sleepy? Oh, no, I wasn't sleepy. Maybe not. Anyway, you look awful refreshed and rested. Oh, here's your flower. I must have dropped it here in the aisle. Thank you. What do you think about that, white rose? Well, it's a way of driveling. It still looks nice and fresh. They're beautiful flowers. I have a garden full of them back home. Hey, that's mighty nice. I bet you sure got somebody taking care of them while you're gone. While I'm down. Sure. Pretty things like that can't just be left. I expect that's the first place you'll look when you get back home, at your garden. You want it just the same as when you left it. Oh, I... I hadn't... thought of that. It's just a long distance operator. Oh, well, this is the part of it that's been calling New London, Connecticut. I wanted to talk to Mr. Jim Randall, 26 Elm Street. I... I didn't have the number. You have a call? Thank you. Hello? Hello, Jim. Oh. Jim, this is Laura. Oh, yes, dear. Where are you? Well, I knew you all. Laura, dear, is there anything wrong? No, no, Jim. It's just that... that I want you to do something for me. Well, of course. Jim, will you get in touch with Folly, my gardener? Yes, I believe I can locate him. Oh, but you must, Jim. You must. Tell him that I want him to go back to... out to the house. I want him to be sure everything's all right with the flower garden. No, what is it, Laura? Are you coming home? Ah, Jim, I... I don't know. What's all this about the flower garden? I don't understand. Jim, don't you see? Somebody has to take care of the garden. Of course, dear, don't you? Of course, Jim. Jim, if I ever did come back, it's the first place I'd look to see if it was just the same as when I left. First notes of a glad new song rise in Laura's heart as she faces life now with courage. Gone forever are the timpanic pounding, the discord that pushed her to this obsession. In just a moment, I'll be back with a preview of next week's story. Distrust through jealousy. Who finds it in next week's recital of...