Her tone was icy. ‘Not yet, madame. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. I made a wrong choice, it seems—but my voice remains. There are a thousand questions I'd like to ask you, but I sha'n't ask them. This was not the sort of confession which he had been expecting. I am sorry to seem to hurt you, but all I say is for your good. He opened the door of still another room, in one corner of which was a grand piano. ’ ‘Poor sort of a mother,’ Martha said with bitterness.
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