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—[Dully.] There’s nothing much to tell. Things kept getting worse, that’s all—and Rob didn’t seem to care.

—But hasn’t he been working the farm?

—He never took any interest since way back when your Ma died. After that he got men to take charge, and they nearly all cheated him—he couldn’t tell—and left one after another. And then there’d be times when there was no one to see to it, when he’d be looking to hire someone new. And the hands wouldn’t stay. It was hard to get them. They didn’t want to work here, and as soon as they’d get a chance to work some other place they’d leave. Then after Mary died he didn’t pay no heed to anything any more—just stayed indoors and took to reading books again. So I had to ask Ma if she wouldn’t help us some.

—[Surprised and horrified.] Why, damn it, this is frightful! Rob must be mad not to have let me know. Too proud to ask help of me! It’s an insane idea! It’s crazy! And for Rob, of all people, to feel that way! What’s the matter with him in God’s name? He didn’t appear to have changed when I was talking to him a second ago. He seemed the same old Rob—only very sick physically. [A sudden, horrible suspicion entering his mind.] Ruth! Tell me the truth. His mind hasn’t gone back on him, has it?

—[Dully.] I don’t know. Mary’s dying