She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. She imagined descending the stairs, hearing Mike’s uproarious laughter as she peeked around a vacant corner with a lump in her throat. Every movable mirror had been placed here, to discourage vanity, and since no whitewash covered the brocaded purple wallpaper, its pervasive hue gave an added sense of heaviness to the crowded chamber. So he made his dispositions and went off on some other fool’s errand. I must go somewhere into hiding, a long, long way off. But come in, dear. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. For a time it really seemed all-sufficient to her that she should love. He hugged her when he saw her in the hallway. What his head conceived his hand executed.
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