She cried fiercely to God that she didn’t love this man, that he wasn’t the one for whom she had longed. She wouldn’t weep! If she could, she would have torn out of her body that treacherous heart which so belied her pride.
"All right, my lad!" she said. "All right! You won’t find it very hard to give me up!"
She lighted the gas and sauntered about the kitchen, eating whatever she saw—bread and biscuits, with a little cold tea that was in the teapot. She even whistled softly to herself.
Mrs. Kennedy waked up, and Angelica went in to see what her mother wanted. She strictly discouraged conversation, however, and questions.
"Don’t talk, mommer. It’s too late. Go to sleep now. I’m coming to bed myself right away. I’ll put out the light and get undressed in the dark, so you can get to sleep."
Which she did. Her mother heard her moving adroitly about, heard her brushing her hair, and, at last, the wild shriek of a spring cot, bought second-hand the day before.
For half an hour Angelica lay quite still; then suddenly she sat up.
"You!" she whispered, with a sob. "You! You go to hell! I don’t care!"