"Give it here." Alice was quiet and sure with excitement. Her big breast heaved under her loose nightgown. Her hair was tumbled about and her coarse face was red with effort.
"Let me! Then you and your father can do what you please!"
"Rubbish. Let it go, I say." Alice's fingers were on the gun. Its hardness and coldness reassured her of she knew not what.
She wanted to hurt me, Alice thought. What other reason did she have for coming to me about it?
"Oh, oh! You hurt my wrist!"
Alice clutched her mother's fingers and was cruel to them. The strong fingers pressed and twisted, still stronger. "Give me that gun!"
It dropped with a dull clatter on the bare floor.
Mrs. Farley's power over others was her power to hurt herself. Now it was gone. She was feeble.
"You try to get your father to leave me. You want to see me left here without anything and you won't let me kill myself," she hiccoughed, beginning to cry.
The gaslight on the wall was turned low. Alice reached for the screw and sent the flame up so that a yellow flood swept the shadows away.