“You look like the wrath of God, honey,” she said, hooking her hand through Anne’s arm and drawing her with her. “You can’t sleep, no one expects that of you. But stretch out on the bed and relax—you get some sort of rest that way.”
Anne went with her, Mrs. Cornell’s step dropping to a crawling pace as they crossed the living-room, her arm drawing Anne closer, her hearty voice dwindled to a whisper:
“Do you know anything?”
“No, how should I?”
“I listen all I can but they’re as tight as clams when we’re around. I think they’ve got a hungry sort of look as if they were on some trail. Haven’t you noticed it?”
Anne hadn’t noticed anything.
“Well, I have. I sit there slumped together and acting helpless, but I’m not like the Foolish Virgins—my lamps are lit.”
“Do you think they have any one in mind?”
“They have two, dearie, as we all have.” They had reached the door and she opened it warily. “And one moment I’m thinking it’s one and the next moment I’m thinking it’s the other and the third moment I’m thinking it’s neither of them.”
They passed through the doorway and went down the hall, stopping at the foot of the stairs. Mrs. Cornell offered a last consoling word: