“If I give it up what shall I do?”
“You know. Come back with us and live with us as you did before. I want you; Hephzy is crazy to have you. We—she has missed you dreadfully. She grieves for you and worries about you. We offer you a home and—”
She interrupted. “Please don't,” she said. “I have told you that that is impossible. It is. I shall never go back to Mayberry.”
“But why? Your aunt—”
“Don't! My aunt is very kind—she has been so kind that I cannot bear to speak of her. Her kindness and—and yours are the few pleasant memories that I have—of this last dreadful year. To please you both I would do anything—anything—except—”
“Don't make any exceptions. Come with us. If not to Mayberry, then somewhere else. Come to America with us.”
“No.”
“Frances—”
“Don't! My mind is made up. Please don't speak of that again.”
Again I realized the finality in her tone. The same finality was in mine as I answered.