Berenice devoted herself to
the invalid, although there was little that she could do. The sick
woman did not suffer; she seemed merely to be fading out of life; to
have lost her hold upon something which was slipping from her loosened
grasp.
"The fact is, Bee," Mrs. Frostwinch said one day, "that the doctors say
I'm dead. I'm beginning to believe it myself, and when I'm fully
convinced, I suppose that that'll be the end."
"Oh, don't joke about it, Cousin Anna," cried Bee. "It is too
dreadful."
"It won't make it any less dreadful to be solemn over it," the other
answered. "However, death should be spoken of with respect; even one's
own."
Berenice longed to know what had taken place between her cousin and
Mrs. Crapps, but she hardly liked to ask. That there had been a
disagreement of some kind, and that Mrs. Frostwinch had lost faith in
the woman, she knew; but beyond this she was in the dark. One
afternoon, however, her cousin explained matters.
"It is so humiliating, Bee, that I can hardly bear to think of it, the
way things turned out. My conscience will be easier, though, if I tell
you the whole of it.
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