He had killed my mother.

There she lay, a little, gaunt, scarred creature, starved and worried to death by him.

Her mouth was half open, her eyes were staring.

She would never again look kindly at me, or curl up to me at night to keep me warm.

Oh, how I hated her murderer! But I sat quietly, even when he went up and turned her over with his foot to see if she was really dead.