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Appendix: Fragments from the Woolrich Archives Blues of a Lifetime was intended, at some point, to include a sixth section, in addition to the five that Woolrich completed. Among his papers is a table of contents showing "The Maid Who Played the Races" as the sixth chapter; however, no title is offered for the missing fifth chapter. Eventually Woolrich abandoned the idea of writing yet another "personal story." The table of contents recorded in his notebook, a 1937 Marquette-brand diary (in the archives at Columbia University), shows clearly that "The Maid Who Played the Races" should be the fifth and final chapter of his autobiography. However, there is one glaring omission in this volume-the story of Woolrich's failed marriage. Nevins provides the fullest account available in his Cornell Woolrich (70-77). And a lengthy contemporary account can be read in the 9 July 1933 issue of the Cleveland Plain Dealer. The following narrative (Part I of the Appendix) is made entirely of bits of prose (fiction) that can be found in the Woolrich archives at Columbia University. Read together, in this artificially edited sequence, they appear to tell the story of a failed marriage. Only the reader can judge how closely the fiction represents truth. Part 2 is Woolrich's intended "ending" for his autobiography. Part 1 Outline of a Missing Chapter1 ... We had a little house-warming, just for and by and with, the two of us. No noisy noise, no noisy guests, nobody else. Just the two, we two, the me of it and the you. I brought in a bottle of Moet and Chandon, but we only had about one drink apiece of that (and in her case just a lip-wetting) and then, somehow, I don't know how, we started to talk. "You're not afraid of me, are you?" I said at one point. I indicated the four sides of the room by swinging my upped thumb around them in a twirl. "Of this, and me, and tonight?" "No," she said quite simply, looking straight at me, untroubled, unevasive. "You're my destiny. I've been coming straight toward you ever since I was born. You and this room, and this night. ... " 150 Appendix 151 But mostly we went dancing. After awhile we started to stay home about once a week. Then after awhile we stayed home every second night or so. Then after another while we only went out about once a week; we'd come full circle. We were shaking down into marriage. She had a pretty good knack for cooking, for a rookie, or if she didn't, it was all right with me, 1didn't notice the difference. Just having her across the table made the food seem swell. The apartment was easy for her to handle, just one oversize room with bed- and pantry-alcoves. We left it pretty much as it was .... . ..1 woke up about two o'clock in the morning, everything dead still. 1 wanted a drink of water, or told myself 1 did anyway. She was sound asleep, or seemed to be; never moved as 1 got up. 1 shucked on a robe, went to the tap, and ran a little water into a glass. But then 1 didn't drink it after all. 1 carried it over to the window with me and stood there holding it in my hand, looking down into the street. The street was empty, and gun-metal-gloom in color. No one on it, nobody, nothing that moved. Not an eddy of dust, not a cat on the prowl. 1 don't know why, but that made it less quieting than if there had been. The switch in the traffic-light control box up on the corner gave a click in the stillness that was as loud as the fall of a loose handcuff. Still holding the water, 1 turned around and came back to the bed. Without moving, without changing position at all, she asked through closed eyes and all: "Anyone there?" "No," 1 answered tersely, and got back to bed. There was this tiny fist-sized cloud on the horizon now, no more than that. But a tiny fist-sized cloud can mean a storm is coming, looming and monstrous. . . .She was just lying there, on top of the bed, on top of the covers, face down. Still, but 1 knew she wasn't sleeping. 1 couldn't see her face, but 1 knew...

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