Mrs. Kennedy listened in vain all through the night. From time to time
she dozed, to wake with a start of fright. She had no knowledge of
drugs, only horrible superstitions. She expected Angelica to be changed
in some way beyond recognition. Would she be violent--fight and struggle
with her? Would she kill herself--set the house on fire?
At dawn she waked from a brief nap, resentful to find herself still
alive. Sick with apprehension, weary beyond all measure, she went into
the kitchen, to see what had become of her child.
Angelica was asleep, with her head on the table. Beside her lay her tiny
package, unopened.
She raised her head and looked at her mother with dark and heavy eyes.
"All right, mommer!" she said. "It’s over!"
"What? What’s over?"
"All of--of that. I’m going to start all over again."
"You can’t, Angie. You can’t undo what’s done."
"I have," she said solemnly. "I’ve just wiped it out. I haven’t done any
harm to any one but myself, and I’m going to forget that. All the traces
of it are gone. Eddie’ll never know; and so he’ll be happy! I have
undone it, mommer; it’s just the same now as if _that_ had never
happened."
Her mother, shivering, racked by her night’s anguish, looked sternly at
her.
"That’s because you don’t know," she said. "You don’t know yet what
you’ve done!"