Putnam. "You are not telling the truth, Mrs. Putnam," said the girl;
"you know who my parents were, but you will not tell me."
"That's right," said Mrs. Putnam, "git mad and show yer temper; that's
better than sheddin' crocodile's tears, as yer've been doin'; yer've
been a curse to me from the day I fust set eyes on yer. I've said I hate
yer, and I do, an' I'll never forgive yer fer what yer've done to me."
Lindy saw that words were useless. Perhaps Mrs. Putnam might, recover,
and if she did not provoke her too far she might relent some day and
tell her what she knew about her parents; so she walked to the door and
opened it. Then she turned and said, "Good-by, Mrs. Putnam, I truly hope
that you will recover."
"Wall, I sha'n't," said Mrs. Putnam. "I'm goin' to die, I want ter die.
I want ter see Jones; I want ter talk ter him; I want ter tell him how
much I loved him--how much I've suffered through yer. I'm goin' ter tell
him how I've hated yer and what fer, and when I git through talkin' to
him, I'll guarantee he'll be my way o' thinkin'."
As the old woman said this, with an almost superhuman effort she raised
herself to a sitting posture, pointed her finger at Lindy, and gave
utterances to a wild, hysterical laugh that almost froze the blood in
the poor girl's veins.
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