You're
good at your job all right. I hate you--you good women! Hate you!"
I heard Mrs. Mundy's indrawn breath, saw her quick glance of shock and
distress, then I went over to Etta. She was trembling with hot emotion
long repressed, and, as one at bay, she drew back, reckless, defiant,
and breathing unsteadily.
"I do not wonder that you hate us. I am sorry--so sorry for you, Etta."
For a full minute she stared at me as if she had not heard aright and
the dull color in her face deepened into crimson, then with a spring
she was at the door, her face buried in her arms. Leaning heavily
against it, she made convulsive effort to keep back sound.
"Sorry--oh, my God!" In a heap she crumpled on the floor, her face
still hidden in her hands. "I did not know--in all the world--anybody
was sorry. You can't be sorry--I'm a--"
I motioned Mrs. Mundy to go out. "Leave her with me," I said. "Come
back presently, but leave her awhile with me."
Going over to the window, I stood beside it until the choking sobs grew
fainter and fainter, and then, turning away, I drew two chairs close to
the fire and told Etta to come and sit by me.
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