"I got the license, Deolda," he said.
"All right," said Deolda, "all right—go away." And she kept on padding up and down the room like a leopard in a cage.
Conboy beckoned my aunt out into the entry. I followed.
"What ails her?" he asked.
"I guess she thinks she sent Johnny Deutra to his grave," said my aunt.
Conboy peered in the door at Deolda. Her face looked like a yellow mask of death with her black hair hanging around her.
"God!" he said, in a whisper. "She cares!" I don't believe it had dawned on him before that she was anything but a wild devil.
All that day the Anita wasn't heard from. That night I was tired out and went to bed. But I couldn't sleep; Deolda sat staring out into the dark as she had the night before.
Next morning I was standing outside the house when one of Deolda's brothers came tearing along. It was Joe, the youngest of one-armed Manel's brood, a boy of sixteen who worked in the fish factory.
"Deolda!" he yelled. "Deolda, Johnny's all right!"