"Damn it, I don't want your money! Here, I'll give you mine!" I wadded up the $6.38 cents I had left, plus one bus transfer, and put it on the top of a little bookcase next to the door. "I know it doesn't mean anything to you, but it's every penny I've got. Can't I do anything for you? Empty the garbage—"
"We have a disposal," she said automatically.
"Scrub the floors."
"There's a polisher in the closet."
"Make the beds!" I yelled. "You don't have a machine for that, do you?"
The corners of Miss Tompkins' eyes drew up and the corners of her mouth drew down. She stayed like that for a full second, then smiled a strange smile. "You—you saw me on the street." She was breathing her words now, so softly that I could only just understand them. "You thought I was—stacked."
"To tell the truth, ma'am, you aren't so—"
"Well, sit down. Don't go away. I'll just go into the next room—slip into something comfortable—"
"Miss Tompkins!" I grabbed hold of her. She felt real. I hoped she was. "I want nothing from you. Nothing! I only want to do something for you, anything for you. I've got to help you, can't you understand? I KILLED YOUR FATHER."
I hadn't meant to tell her that, of course.