“Well,” she says, “you don't take much interest, I must say. Here you sit enjoyin' the landscape, and your daughter askin' where her father has gone to, and is she an orphan or what. Come in,” she says, “or she'll be comin' out.”
I walked in.
I stopped a bit by the bedroom door to git up my courage, and then I walked into the room.
Marthy had her eyes open, and they looked up at me with a smile in them, and then looked down again at the bunch on her arm under the quilt.
“Come and see her,” she says, feeble but proud. “Come and see your daughter, Edith L.”
She slid down the covers so I could see her, and I looked at that kid with a sick grin.
“Ain't she lovely?” she says.
“Sure!” I says, lying bravely.
“Don't talk,” says Mrs. Murphy, speakin' to Marthy, “or the session is ended.”
“Just one word,” I says. “Marthy, are you satisfied with her—with the kid?”