She had no money at all, bills were piled
everywhere, perhaps now Robert was dead none of the shops would
give her credit. She remembered hearing Rob come into the house
swearing only the day before he was taken ill and it had been
because he had met on the door-step a collector of the rent which
was long over-due and must be paid. She had no money to pay it,
none to pay the servants' wages, none to pay the household bills,
none to pay for the monthly hire of the brougham! Would they turn
her into the street--would the servants go away--would she be left
without even a carriage? What could she do about clothes! She
could not wear anything but mourning now and by the time she was
out of mourning her old clothes would have gone out of fashion.
The morning on which this aspect of things occurred to her, she
was so terrified that she began to run up and down the room like a
frightened little cat seeing no escape from the trap it is caught
in.
"It's awful--it's awful--it's awful!" broke out between her sobs.
"What can I do? I can't do anything! There's nothing to do! It's
awful--it's awful--it's awful!" She ended by throwing herself on
the bed crying until she was exhausted. She had no mental resources
which would suggest to her that there was anything but crying to
be done. She had cried very little in her life previously because
even in her days of limitation she had been able to get more or
less what she wanted--though of course it had generally been less.
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