"You cannot read lying there, can you?"
"There ain't a book nowheres in the house."
"Not a Bible?"
"A Bible? I hain't seen a Bible in five year."
"Do you remember what is in the Bible?" said Matilda, greatly shocked. This was living without air.
"Remember?" said the woman. "I'm tired o' 'membering. I'd like to go to sleep and remember no more. What's the use?"
"What do you remember?" Matilda asked in some awe.
"I remember 'most everything," said the woman, wearily. "Times when I was well and strong—and young—and had my house comfor'ble and my things respectable. Them times was once. And I had what I wanted, and could do what I had a mind to. There ain't no use in remembering. I'd like to forget. Now I lie here."
"Do you remember nothing else?" said Matilda.
"I remember it all," said the woman. "I've nothin' to do but think. When I was first married, and just come home, and thought all the world was"—she stopped to sigh—"a garden o' posies. 'Tain't much like it—to poor folks. And I had my children around me—Sabriny's the last on 'em. She's out there, ain't she?"