A great
despair seized upon her. She buried her face in the pillow and thought
of her mother with an infinite longing.
Aroused at length by the chittering of the canary, McTeague had awakened
slowly. After a while he had taken down his concertina and played upon
it the six very mournful airs that he knew.
Face downward upon the bed, Trina still wept. Throughout that little
suite could be heard but two sounds, the lugubrious strains of the
concertina and the noise of stifled weeping.
That her husband should be ignorant of her distress seemed to Trina an
additional grievance. With perverse inconsistency she began to wish
him to come to her, to comfort her. He ought to know that she was in
trouble, that she was lonely and unhappy.
"Oh, Mac," she called in a trembling voice. But the concertina still
continued to wail and lament. Then Trina wished she were dead, and
on the instant jumped up and ran into the "Dental Parlors," and threw
herself into her husband's arms, crying: "Oh, Mac, dear, love me, love
me big! I'm so unhappy."
"What--what--what--" the dentist exclaimed, starting up bewildered, a
little frightened.
"Nothing, nothing, only LOVE me, love me always and always.
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