She lifted her right hand, slowly, hugely, and in the same slow, huge way landed the open palm with a sounding slap on Tom's astounded cheek.

Immediately thereafter she raised her voice in the shrill, hoarse, monotonous madness of hysteria, sat down on the floor, and rocked back and forth in the throes of an abysmal grief.
Willie's silent weeping turned to noise, and the two little girls, with the fresh ribbons in their hair, joined him.

Tom's face was drawn and white, though the smitten cheek still blazed, and Saxon wanted to put her arms comfortingly around him, yet dared not.

He bent over his wife.
"Sarah, you ain't feelin' well.

Let me put you to bed, and I'll finish tidying up." "Don't touch me!--don't touch me!" she screamed, jerking violently away from him.
"Take the children out in the yard, Tom, for a walk, anything--get them away," Saxon said.