It
was only that they knew. Those eyes _knew. They knew!_ She tried the
device there at four o'clock in the morning of tearing up the still
unpaid check to the Ivy Funeral Rooms, and then she curled up in bed
with her hand in the negro maid's and her face half buried in the
pillow.
"Help me, Lottie!" she begged; "help me!"
"Law! Pore child! Gettin' the horrors every night thisaway! I've been
through it before with other ladies, but I never saw a case of the sober
horrors befoh. Looks like they's the worst of all. Go to sleep, child.
I's holdin'."
You see, Lottie had looked in on life where you and I might not. A
bird's-eye view may be very, very comprehensive, but a domestic's-eye
view can sometimes be very, very close.
And then, one night, after Hester had beat her hands down into the
mattress and implored Gerald to close his accusing eyes, she sat up in
bed, waiting for the first streak of dawn to show itself, railing at the
pain in her head.
"God! My head! Rub it, Lottie! My head! My eyes! The back of my neck!"
The next morning she did what you probably have been expecting she would
do.
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