"I was just about gone, that's what I was. Let anybody so much as look
at me twice and, pop! I'd want to cry about it."
"And?"
"For six weeks I didn't even have enough interest to ask after Truman,
who was courting me then. Oh, it was no fun, I can tell you, that
nervous breakdown of mine!"
"What--else?"
"Isn't that enough?"
"Did it--was it--was it ever hard to swallow, Jeanette?"
"To swallow?"
"Yes. I mean--did you ever dream or--think--or feel so frightened you
couldn't swallow?"
"I felt lots of ways, but that wasn't one of them. Swallow! Who ever
heard of not swallowing?"
"But didn't you ever dream, Jeanette--terrible things--such terrible
things--and get to thinking and couldn't stop yourself? Silly,
ghostly--things."
Jeanette put down her sewing.
"Ann, are you quizzing me about--your mother?"
"My mother? Why my mother? Jeanette, what do you mean? Why do you ask me
a thing like that? What has my mother got to do with it? Jeanette!"
Conscious that she had erred, Jeanette veered carefully back.
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