"Don't you see you're not doing right?
My brother is just dead.

I must have some time to mourn.

It is only decent." She was standing now with her back to the little cupboard behind whose door lay the two pistols.

Her hand was behind her on the wooden latch.
"You don't respect my trouble!" she said, catching her breath, and putting her hand to her eyes.

"I don't believe you care for me when you don't do what I say." The man was held at bay.