She felt it would save explanations if she did not state she had left her home and was looking for employment. "If I could only make you realize what you have done," he said, lamely. She was a lone white woman, therefore marked. The same old lines and verses, over and over, until there had come times when shrieking would have relieved her. She would look up, shake her head, and then go back to her reading or crewelwork. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. “Sheila and Mark McCloskey?” Michelle asked.
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