"Miss Farrell, you win almost every tournament you enter and it appears that this one will be no exception. Would it-"

"You'd better stop right there, Mr. Harrison," Dana said coldly, "Or you are going to hate yourself in the morning."

"But if Clare doesn't win-" "Mr. Harrison, Clare Emerson is not GOING to win. In spite of what she might think, in spite of two fairly good rounds which have kept her in the running, Clare Emerson never had an outside chance of winning this or any othertop flight tournament. There are too many others playing, besides me, who outclass her so badly she shouldn't even be competing."

"You're wrong, Miss Farrell. God knows, I wish you were right. If I never heard the word 'golf' again as long as I live, I couldn't be happier.. But you're wrong. Clare has played this course almost daily for five years. For the past three months she has almost lived on it. She knows it like the palm of her hand. She has a very good chance of winning, and she knows it."

"Then let her take her chance with the rest of us, Mr. Harrison. Although, believe me, she does not have a very good chance; she has almost no chance. But, for the sake of argument, suppose she did win. What then, Mr. Harrison?"

"Then I think she would forget this-obsession-and maybe even the whole damned game of golf!"

"Do you? I think that would be much more likely if she were beaten so badly she'd never want to see a golf course again. If

she were to win over the great Dana Farrell, I wouldn't be a bit surprised to see her back in the pro circuit again. Which, if your theory is correct, is what she's really wanted all along."

The young man stood up, his fine-boned face pasty under his nice tan. "Please forgive me, Miss Farrell," he said stiffly. "I will, as you say, hate myself in the morning."

He turned swiftly on his heel disappeared in the direction of the parking lot.

and

Dana watched him go, her face extremely thoughtful. She lit another cigarette and let the match burn down until it singed her fingers. My God, she thought, isn't this racket tough enough without having to contend with the local variety of neurotics, yet?

What, in the name of heaven, DID Clare Emerson want? She'd had her chance at professional golf and thrown it away because she couldn't stand the pressure. She'd chosen this way of life of her own free will, and seemed to have acquired everything she could possibly desire.

Nobody can have everything, Dana thought angrily. She ground out her cigarette, remembering Carter Harrison's troubled face, remembering Toni Carver's distress --and remembering Clare Emerson as she had been five years ago, and as she was now. She looked around at the pretentious grounds of the Riverdale Country Club and a glimmer of understanding touched her. "All this and heaven, too," she murmured. "Clare-Clare-it just can't be done!"

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