A stanza of a poem that Lillian had learned in the lower grades of school returned to her.
Yes, it did make you feel sad to look at the lights through the rain. Sad and something else. You got a feeling that you wanted to go somewhere or do something. You couldn't bear quiet and dullness when you looked at the lights through the rain. There wasn't any connection or meaning, but you wanted to go.
"Hubert, Hubert, will you for God's sake wake up? Put a record on the Victrola, Billy, will you? Come on, Louise, let's get the dishes done."
"Oh, are you going to do them tonight? I thought we'd just pile them up in the kitchen and then I'd come over in the morning and we'd get them out of the way."
"Anna's calling you," Billy said.
"Coming," called Lillian. She found Anna sitting on the edge of the bed pulling on her stockings.
"I can't stay in here any more. I'm going crazy. I'm coming outside with you folks."
"All right, I'll help you dress."
It took fifteen minutes to get Anna outside. Louise had not cleared the table. Lillian scraped the plates and began to carry them out. Anna sat by the window looking at the rain and weeping softly.
"You'll make your grippe worse sitting by the window," Louise said sweetly. "There might be a draught."
