She threw hat and coat on the bed and sat down before the fire. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all. By the time John returned with popcorn and a large Coke, the theater had filled up with high-school kids. A bad one in a rough-and-tumble; all the water-front tricks. She was civil, but she was obviously impatient to know his errand. "What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother.
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