“Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. "I've won, after all. Have you not tired of sadness and pain?” 81 She thought she could hear tears in his voice but would not look at him. Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers. "Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. At least I can’t talk to them. She padded up the stairs to the bedroom, finding that her sheets had been changed with a fresh pillow case to welcome her weary head.
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