“You don' know, you don' know? Where haf your sensus gone, Trina? You kiss der doktor. You cry, and you don' know. Is ut Marcus den?”
“No, it's not Cousin Mark.”
“Den ut must be der doktor.”
Trina made no answer.
“Eh?”
“I—I guess so.”
“You loaf him?”
“I don't know.”
Mrs. Sieppe set down the mousetrap with such violence that it sprung with a sharp snap.