It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing. "Ay, what's the matter, boy!" reiterated Jackson sternly. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Martha begged. Though scarcely two hours past midnight, it was perfectly light. Where was the message? Where was Gerald? Until he came back, what was there for her to do? Eh bien, it made no sense to do anything. She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for herself. She heard him crash against it, and turned the key in the lock. "Jonathan has threatened to do her some mischief.
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