The want to make her feel small. But soon, that feeling gave way to sadness. I felt sorry for her. Sorry that every part of her life had been characterized by misery. Sorry that even now, she was suffering. Her eyes were unfocused. She was lost in her thoughts and had no idea how awful she was making me feel. But I knew where she was, and what she was remembering. She was back in that little tin house, the hail clattering noisily against the walls. It was winter, and she was alone, her cries lost to the wind.
