Angelica was asleep, with her head on the table. Beside her lay her tiny package, unopened.
She raised her head and looked at her mother with dark and heavy eyes.
"All right, mommer!" she said. "It’s over!"
"What? What’s over?"
"All of—of that. I’m going to start all over again."
"You can’t, Angie. You can’t undo what’s done."
"I have," she said solemnly. "I’ve just wiped it out. I haven’t done any harm to any one but myself, and I’m going to forget that. All the traces of it are gone. Eddie’ll never know; and so he’ll be happy! I have undone it, mommer; it’s just the same now as if that had never happened."
Her mother, shivering, racked by her night’s anguish, looked sternly at her.
"That’s because you don’t know," she said. "You don’t know yet what you’ve done!"