One would think I had agreed to her going. He delayed the blow till the fortunate conjuncture was past. “Just hope that the ground doesn’t shift and unearth them. ’ ‘She?’ scoffed Martha. Were I to let you go, you'd say I feared you. He began shoveling dirt over the bodies. It must be the dawn creeping in. The thought did not occur to her, for all thought had flown out of her head. She came in now with an air of reserved solicitude. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. It isn't for their sakes, it's for your own.
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