“I’m not tryin’ to torture yuh. We’ve all got to face our sins.”
Della sank back against the pillows.
“It isn’t my sins; it’s the eyes of that girl. She looked at me as though she was sorry for me.”
“‘And the greatest of these is charity,’” quoted Cultus softly.
“I don’t want her charity, and I’m not used to having anybody sorry for me. There’s enough real things in the world to be sorry for without being sorry for me and my sins.”
“Mebbe yo’re sorry for her.”
“Sorry for her?” Della looked curiously at Cultus. “That’s a new idea. I never thought of that.”
Jane came in with the hot water, and Cultus walked out in the kitchen, while Della removed her stocking. She didn’t want to look at Jane.
“Just put the pan where I can reach it,” she said. “I can do the rest.”
“I’ll do it,” softly. “You look all worn out, and I know it must hurt badly. I sprained my wrist one day, and I know how that hurt.”