“Part yours. Yes, Larry.”
“She’s a great kid. Old as the hills and then again––a baby-thing.”
“We must not strain her, Larry, we cannot afford to put too heavy a load on her. She would bear it until she dropped.”
“Don’t get talking booky, Mary-Clare. You don’t as much as you once did.” A pause, then hardly above a whisper: “Do you go to the cabin in the woods now, Mary-Clare?”
“I haven’t been there for a long while, Larry.” Mary-Clare’s hands clutched each other until the bones ached.
“I’m sorry, Mary-Clare, God knows I am, for what I did up there. It was the note as drove me mad. Across––over there, I used to read that note, you and he were queer lots.”
“Larry, I will not talk about that––ever!”
“You can’t forgive?”
“I have forgiven long ago.”