“Tell me about Sal, please,” said Gloria. “Her mother seemed to feel so terribly.”
Rose's face hardened. “Well, she's probably forgotten her grief by now; that is, if she's got hold of anything to drink. That's the way she'll celebrate it. She beat poor Sal regular. You know—” Rose's voice dropped a little, as though she hated to say what she was going to say, “Sal isn't just the same as the rest of us. She's always had to lean on things, and sometimes they break with her.”
Gloria shuddered.
“Sal's had lots of breaks; but then everything in this house is sort of uncertain. The ceiling, for instance. The ceiling in Dinney's room came down once before his mother died, and it just missed her. It would have killed her then if it had hit her. It nearly killed Dinney, but he's tough.”
“They will mend the stair railing!” Gloria cried.
Rose's face hardened, and she looked down and pressed her lips against the baby's forehead. It was as though the girl, Gloria, beside her was reaching too far. Lifting her head, she said in a cold voice:
“They don't mend things around here. But maybe they will the railing. It costs money to mend, and they say things don't stay mended. Maybe they don't.”
Gloria sat looking straight in front of her. What a world it was, compared with her own world! At last she said in a low tone:
“Did they mend the ceiling?”
“No,” answered Rose. “But then, it don't matter. She died soon after, you know. The hole is there yet.” Gloria rose; she was growing anxious for a change. Something seemed somehow choking her.