"Was that it?" she retorted, unbelieving.
When he looked up, she was regarding him thoughtfully, the black brows elevated, interrogative. The old man felt the stirrings of physical nausea within him. But he waited for her to elaborate her story.
"Do you care to ask anything more?" she inquired, impersonal as ashes.
"If I may."
"Why, certainly."
He paused in his whittling, brought forth a huge handkerchief, passed it across his forehead, was aware for a moment that he was working hard against the woman's unnatural calmness, and feeling the heat intensely. She was untouched by it. He whittled again, asking her:
"You a native of Washington?"
"No."
"How long have you been here?"
"About nine months. We came from Chicago."