"Please don't, Theresa."
She began to count the cobwebs hanging from the roof.
"Why don't you have this place kept clean?"
"I do, in the summer."
Over and over again she counted them. She made calculations of the height of the walls, the length and breadth of the floor, while the sight of Morton sitting there, inert and miserable, roused her to an irritated, helpless pity.
"Do you think I could go home this morning, please?" she asked softly.
"I'll see about it."
"You won't want to tell Mrs. Morton, will you? I'll do it."
"Be kind to her, Theresa."
"My dear, she'll thank God for an escape."