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Somebody had killed him, I knew I knew it from what they said. George knew my father, then, too. What did he know? That was it! He he was the man that killed my father. He was after my mother then he had been after her before, and made her breathe funny, made a fool of her. That was why my beautiful mother was so strange to me sometimes. That's why there was no more New York and Phil'delph.
"She used to tell me stories about New York, and Phil'delph. Many big cities. There they applaud, and clap the hands, when my mother was a queen, or a beggar girl, in the theatre, and make love and kill and fight. Have grand supper in hotel afterward. And I'd ask my mother how soon I too may be a queen. And she'd give me to learn the words they say, and I'd say them.
No more nights with stories and books. No more about New York and Phil'delph. Never again. "I was out in the yard one day, on my knees, with the flowers. It was Springtime, and I was digging and fixing. And I heard a horse's hoofs on the road. A runaway, I thought at first. I stood up to look, and " She faltered, and then choked out, "I stood up to look, and the man came!"
She never hit me again, because George said he'd kill her if she did. But she acted very strange when he told her that, and looked and looked at me. And didn't speak to me for days and days. But I didn't mind I could talk to George. And we'd go for long walks, and he'd tell me more about New York and Phil'delph more than my mother could tell. Oh, I loved to hear him talk.
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