Mrs. O'Higgins returned to town and made a night of it, nothing very wild, nothing very desperate. “I mean REALLY independent. “My sister and I,” she said slowly, “have seen very little of each other lately. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. I cannot be intimate—’ stressing the word with a deep look ‘— with one I feel to be a stranger. I could not hear his heart beat. She blew on the hand cannon and grabbed her bag of gunpowder. The relationship seemed to have almost as much to do with blood and body as a mortgage. Something is feeding upon them.
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