He looked no longer at his wife. “But what are you going to do?” asked Hetty. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. We aren’t afraid; we don’t bother. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. She refused to accept her fate, but what is it that she could do about it? Night after night she invented alternatives. I didn’t go out of my way or anything.
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