Mrs. Moody opened the door and stepped inside. She was prepared for what she saw.
"There you be," she said, with a sort of triumphant air, as of one whose prophecy had been fulfilled to the letter, "flat on your back."
Ruth paid no attention.
"What ails you?"
No answer.
"Here now"—she spoke sharply—"you know who I be, don't you?"
"Yes," said Ruth.
"Why didn't you answer?"
"I am—so—tired," Ruth said, faintly.
"You can't be sick here. Don't you go doin' it. I hain't got no time to look after sick folks." She might as well have spoken to the pillow. Ruth didn't care. She had simply reached the end of her will, and had given up. It was over. She was absolutely without emotion.