"Rather than getting angry," I said to her, "you had better tell me your trouble. You might feel better afterward."
"What do you want of me?"
"I don't want anything; don't be afraid."
"I am not afraid; but you are disgusting to me." "Why am I disgusting?"
"Stop insisting or I will call the people." And so she struck out at every one—old and young, and women, too.
"I do not need you," I answered. "I need your pain, for I want to know why people suffer."
She looked at me sideways and answered, "Go to others. They are all in need, the devil take them." "Why curse them?"
"Because I want to."
She seemed to me like one possessed.
"For whom are you making this pilgrimage?" I asked.