“No you won't,” she said, “I'll get it. I'd ought to have thought of it before. You must be tired and hungry.”
Her voice was odd and thin. Janet hesitated a moment, and ceded.
“Well, I'll set the dishes on the table, anyway.”
Janet had sought refuge, wistfully, in the commonplace. And when the meal was ready she strove to eat, though food had become repulsive.
“You must take something, mother,” she said.
“I don't feel as if I ever wanted to eat anything again,” she replied.
“I know,” said Janet, “but you've got to.” And she put some of the cold meat, left over from Sunday's dinner, on Hannah's plate. Hannah took up a fork, and laid it down again. Suddenly she said:—“You saw Lise?”
“Yes,” said Janet.
“Where is she?”
“In a house—in Boston.”