“Then why wont he let me alone?” she says. “He——he just——” “He is the nearest thing to a father you’ve ever had,” Mother says. “It’s his bread you and I eat. It’s only right that he should expect obedience from you.” “It’s his fault,” she says. She jumped up. “He makes me do it. If he would just——” she looked at us, her eyes cornered, kind of jerking her arms against her sides. “If I would just what?” I says. “Whatever I do, it’s your fault,” she says. “If I’m bad, it’s because I had to be. You made me. I wish I was dead. I wish we were all dead.” Then she ran. We heard her run up the stairs.
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