“Oh my God, what if she’s dead?” More giggling. That would not help her. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. Now the baby’s bright May eyes peered up at her intently. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. Old Jersey and Hampshire family, the Pellissiers, and a capital stock, too, I believe. In mid-bite, she heard a car door slam that was recognizable. But it was the form of her ruling determination; it was the only form that she ever allowed to see daylight. “Go on!” she commanded.
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