which was rightly hers to spend for the children. But he would say at the end, “But what can I do? I can’t refuse to sell him drink, now can I?” And at last, having played out her scene and taken her fill of sympathy, she would slowly walk away across the expanse of red dust to her house, holding Mary by the hand—a tall, scrawny woman with angry, unhealthy brilliant eyes. She made a confidante of Mary early.
