"Oh, but that's like you, Morton! Threats! But, thank God, nothing you can do can harm me any more."
"I reckon she's considerable over sixteen now. Let's see—"
Fire bells. Fire bells.
"Come out with what you want, Morton, like a man! You're feeling for something. Money? Now that your mother is dead and her fortune squandered, you've come to harass me? That's it! I know you, like a person who has been disfigured for life by burns knows fire. Well, I won't pay!"
"Pay? Why, Hattie—I want you—back—"
She could have cried because, as she sat there blackly, she was sick with his lie.
"I'd save a dog from you."
"Then save—her—from me."
The terrible had happened so quietly. Morton had not raised his voice; scarcely his lips.
She closed the door then and sat down once more, but that which had crouched out of their talk was unleashed now.