“It’s cooler, already.”
It was not cooler. The shut window made the dark room plunge and stifle. Fanny felt ill. Her hands ran over the sharp cool sheets of paper. The nerves of the palms of her hands were shrill.
“Is that all, Mr. Johns?”
“There’s the whole South yet! We’d better see how they’re drinking down in the South.”
“O yes....”
“You wouldn’t forget the South?”
A picture bright like a knife ... this her house, the garden, Edith in her blue bassinette ... cut her and filled the room.
—Get away! get away!
“Now—first, Virginia—“
“Yes.”—Get away! O my baby! O Harry! How could you? Couldn’t you understand? Yet? Where are you Edith?... “This was at Flora’s table.”—Get away!