Strong: That was nothing. And Rachel?
Mrs. Loving: She’ll be back presently. She went to sit with a sick child for a little while.
Strong: And how is she?
Mrs. Loving: She’s not herself yet, but I think she is better.
Strong (After a short pause): Well, what did happen—exactly?
Mrs. Loving: That’s just what I don’t know.
Strong: When you came home—you couldn’t get in—was that it?
Mrs. Loving: Yes. (Pauses). It was just a week ago today. I was down town all the morning. It was about one o’clock when I got back. I had forgotten my key. I rapped on the door and then called. There was no answer. A window was open, and I could feel the air under the door, and I could hear it as the draught sucked it through. There was no other sound. Presently I made such a noise the people began to come out into the hall. Jimmy was in one of the flats playing with a little girl named Mary. He told me he had left Rachel here a short time before. She had given him four cookies, two for him and two for Mary, and had told him he could play with her until she came to tell him his lunch was ready. I saw he was getting frightened, so I got the little girl and her mother to keep him in their flat. Then, as no man was at home, I sent out for help. Three men broke the door down. (Pauses). We found Rachel unconscious, lying on her face. For a few minutes I thought she was dead. (Pauses). A vase had fallen over on the table and the water had dripped through the cloth and onto the floor. There had been flowers in it. When I left, there were no flowers here. What she could have done to them, I can’t say. The long stems were lying everywhere, and the flowers had been ground into the floor. I could tell that they must have been roses from the stems. After we had put her to bed and called the doctor, and she had finally regained consciousness, I very naturally asked her what had happened. All she would say was, “Ma dear, I’m too—tired—please.” For four days she lay in bed scarcely moving, speaking only when spoken to. That first day, when Jimmy came in to see her, she shrank away from him. We had to take him out, and comfort him as best we could. We kept him away, almost by force, until she got up. And, then, she was utterly miserable when he was out of her sight. What happened, I don’t know. She avoids Tom, and she won’t tell me. (Pauses). Tom and I both believe her soul has been hurt. The trouble isn’t with her body. You’ll find her highly nervous. Sometimes she is very much depressed; again she is feverishly gay—almost reckless. What do you think about it, John?
Strong (Who has listened quietly): Had anybody been here, do you know?
Mrs. Loving: No, I don’t. I don’t like to ask Rachel; and I can’t ask the neighbors.