They were empty.
Trina flung herself full length upon the floor, burying her face in her
arms, rolling her head from side to side. Her voice rose to a wail.
"No, no, no, it's not true; it's not true; it's not true. Oh, he
couldn't have done it. Oh, how could he have done it? All my money, all
my little savings--and deserted me. He's gone, my money's gone, my dear
money--my dear, dear gold pieces that I've worked so hard for. Oh, to
have deserted me--gone for good--gone and never coming back--gone with
my gold pieces. Gone-gone--gone. I'll never see them again, and I've
worked so hard, so so hard for him--for them. No, no, NO, it's not true.
It IS true. What will become of me now? Oh, if you'll only come back you
can have all the money--half of it. Oh, give me back my money. Give me
back my money, and I'll forgive you. You can leave me then if you want
to. Oh, my money. Mac, Mac, you've gone for good. You don't love me any
more, and now I'm a beggar. My money's gone, my husband's gone, gone,
gone, gone!"
Her grief was terrible. She dug her nails into her scalp, and clutching
the heavy coils of her thick black hair tore it again and again. She
struck her forehead with her clenched fists.
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