Her face glowed with the wonder of the kitten, its pink triangle of mouth opening in a soundless mew, the vibration of its purring.
"And of course I can't have it, because Benjie would simply kill it. A cook we had at Cedarmere had the darlingest little gray kitten once, with a little white shirt front, and Benjie got it—I couldn't sleep for nights! And Mrs. Whipple won't chain him or put him in a cage. She cares a million times more for that parrot than she does for me, or anyone, and I want that little kitten so terribly. It seems to me if I only had something of my own, I wouldn't feel so blue and lonely"
I'd better stop at the Vienna Bakery on the way home, Kate thought, and get some rolls. Mercy! How this room does look, with cards all over the floor and every picture crooked. They say that shows they've been dusted. Maybe! Leaf-green Benjie was the only bright thing in the room, curling his claw around his bill and twisting his head on one side to look at her from a round eye of black and amber glass—nasty cruel thing! Poor Carrie! She didn't have much fun. But trust an old maid to want a cat! Every time!
"Kate, whatever in the world happened yesterday at the Wednesday Club? You went off so quickly after tea I didn't get a chance to ask you. I thought you were going to give your talk on art. I told everyone"
