Here was need of help; and therefore help of some sort
she must certainly give. "Now, then," she went on quickly, "you look
just plum tuckered out; set down an' rest a spell, an' tell me what I
can do for you."
"My name is Sylvia Cary--Mrs. Mortimer Cary, I mean." She shivered,
paused, and went on. "I live in New York--that is, I always have--I'm
never going to any more, if I can help it. My husband died two months
ago, my baby--just before that. I've felt so--so--tired ever since, I
just had to get away somewhere--away from the noise, and the hurry, and
the crowds of people I know. I was in Hamstead once, ten years ago, and I
remembered it, and came back. I want most dreadfully to stay--could you
possibly make room for me here?"
"Oh, you poor lamb! I'd do anything I could for you--but this ain't the
sort of home you've been used to--" began Mrs. Gray; but she was
interrupted.
"No, no, of course it isn't! Don't you understand--I can't bear what I've
been used to another minute! And I'll honestly try not to be a bit of
trouble if you'll only let me stay!"
Mrs.
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