“Or mebbe you’ll tear it up,” she mused. “Who knows? Then if I was to die, you could pretend I hadn’t made no will.”
“Take it back. I shan’t keep it,” Lucy cried, moving toward the door.
“Afraid of yourself, eh?”
“No.”
The monosyllable rang with scorn.
“Then prove it,” sneered Ellen.
Smiling evilly, her aunt pushed the packet across the table. There was a leer of triumph in the sharp-featured face.
“I ’magine that ’twas gettin’ as mad as you are now that kep’ the Websters from ever buildin’ up that wall,” she called after her niece, as Lucy with crimson cheeks fled up the stairs, the long white envelope in her hand.