Somebody knew. Somebody had been talking. She had found Catty in the room
making up the bed for her in the corner. Catty was crying as she tucked
in the blankets. "There's some people," she said, "as had ought to be
poisoned." But she wouldn't say why she was crying.
You could tell by Mr. Belk's face, his mouth drawn in between claws of
nose and chin; by Mrs. Belk's face and her busy eyes, staring. By the old
men sitting on the bench at the corner, their eyes coming together as you
passed.
And Mr. Spencer Rollitt, stretching himself straight and looking away
over your head and drawing in his breath with a "Fivv-vv-vv" when he
asked how Mamma was. His thoughts were hidden behind his bare, wooden
face. He was a just and cautious man. He wouldn't accept any statement
outside the Bible without proof.
You had to go down and talk to Mrs. Waugh. She had come to see how you
would look. Her mouth talked about Mamma but her face was saying all the
time, "I'm not going to ask you what you were doing in London in Mr.
Nicholson's flat, Mary. I'm sure you wouldn't do anything you'd be sorry
to think of with your poor mother in the state she's in."