Fanny heard Clara in the kitchen getting her breakfast. The negress maid did not appear before eleven: and this morning Clara was going to New Jersey to see a married sister who was very ill.
She stood in the doorway. The sooty shade of the room lay in her face, filling the folds of resolution under eyes, beside her mouth, with a harsh darkness.
—She is not well. She is not happy! Clara looks herself.
—And the room—it is itself.
Fanny felt salience in the ugly morning ... for the first time felt salience about her.
—It’ll go. You’ll put up the shade. You’ll cover up these beds ... sheets speak. Some of the sunlight from across the way will filter in. Sun lies sometimes. These true shadows for seeing where I am will go. Fanny could not smile.
“You’re still half asleep,” said Clara. “Want to sleep some more? Lucy could get you breakfast later on.”
“No. I’m awake. You bring in the little table. Let’s breakfast together.”
“In here?” Clara’s smile softened the shadows in her face.
“Yes. Right here. Do!” ...