In all her life no living thing had had to depend upon her, not even a dog or a cat. "Do better in future. I don’t know what has come over me. \" She handed the ticket seller, a boy that looked to be all of eighteen years old, murder money that she had stolen from Dawn Plote's dead son, five dollars. She stopped abruptly at the sound of his voice, and lost the thread of what she was saying. She felt she had to go on. "You're a bold fellow, Jack," rejoined the blacksmith. Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers. Aunt and niece regarded each other silently. As for Mike’s observations on John’s desires to get laid, it was the pot calling the kettle black.
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