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though the coming minutes and weeks must bring delight. He felt a dawn emotion, with a
lovely day to slip golden and quiet over him. He laced his fingers behind his head and
stretched his legs out stiff.

In the kitchen Cal urged on the water heating in the coffeepot, and yet he was pleased
to be waiting. A miracle once it is familiar is no longer a miracle; Cal had lost his wonder
at the golden relationship with his father but the pleasure remained. The poison of lone-
liness and the gnawing envy of the unlonely had gone out of him, and his person was
clean and sweet, and he knew it was. He dredged up an old hatred to test himself, and he
found the hatred gone. He wanted to serve his father, to give him some great gift, to
perform some huge good task in honor of his father.

The coffee boiled over and Cal spent minutes cleaning up the stove. He said to himself,
“I wouldn’t have done this yesterday.”

Adam smiled at him when he carried in the steaming pot. Adam sniffed and said,
“That’s a smell could raise me out of a concrete grave.”

“It boiled over,” said Cal.
“It has to boil over to taste good,” Adam said. “I wonder where Lee went.”
“Maybe in his room. Shall I look?”
“No. He’d have answered.”
“Sir, when I finish school, will you let me run the ranch?”
“You’re planning early. How about Aron?”
“He wants to go to college. Don’t tell him I told you. Let him tell you, and you be
surprised.”
“Why, that’s fine,” said Adam. “But don’t you want to go to college too?”
“I bet I could make money on the ranch—enough to pay Aron’s way through college.”
Adam sipped his coffee. “That’s a generous thing,” he said. “I don’t know whether I
ought to tell you this but—well, when I asked you earlier what kind of boy Aron was,
you defended him so badly I thought you might dislike him or even hate him.”
“I have hated him,” Cal said vehemently. “And I’ve hurt him too. But, sir, can I tell
you something? I don’t hate him now. I won’t ever hate him again. I don’t think I will
hate anyone, not even my mother—” He stopped, astonished at his slip, and his mind
froze up tight and helpless.
Adam looked straight ahead. He rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand. Finally
he said quietly, “You know about your mother.” It was not a question.
“Yes—yes, sir.”
“All about her?”
“Yes, sir.”
Adam leaned back in his chair. “Does Aron know?”
“Oh, no! No—no, sir. He doesn’t know.”
“Why do you say it that way?”
“I wouldn’t dare to tell him.”
“Why not?”
Cal said brokenly, “I don’t think he could stand it. He hasn’t enough badness in him to
stand it.” He wanted to continue, “—any more than you could, sir,” but he left the last
unsaid.
Adam’s face looked weary. He moved his head from side to side. “Cal, listen to me.
Do you think there’s any chance of keeping Aron from knowing? Think carefully.”

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Cal said, “He doesn’t go near places like that. He’s not like me.”
“Suppose someone told him?”
“I don’t think he would believe it, sir. I think he would lick whoever told him and think
it was a lie.”
“You’ve been there?”
“Yes, sir. I had to know.” And Cal went on excitedly, “If he went away to college and
never lived in this town again—”
Adam nodded. “Yes. That might be. But he has two more years here.”
“Maybe I could make him hurry it up and finish in one year. He’s smart.”
“But you’re smarter?”
“A different kind of smart,” said Cal.
Adam seemed to grow until he filled one side of the room. His face was stern and his
blue eyes sharp and penetrating. “Cal!” he said harshly.
“Sir?”
“I trust you, son,” said Adam.

2

Adam’s recognition brought a ferment of happiness to Cal. He walked on the balls of his
feet. He smiled more often than he frowned, and the secret darkness was seldom on him.

Lee, noticing the change in him, asked quietly, “You haven’t found a girl, have you?”
“Girl? No. Who wants a girl?”
“Everybody,” said Lee.
And Lee asked Adam, “Do you know what’s got into Cal?”
Adam said, “He knows about her.”
“Does he?” Lee stayed out of trouble. “Well, you remember I thought you should have
told them.”
“I didn’t tell him. He knew.”
“What do you think of that!” said Lee. “But that’s not information to make a boy hum
when he studies and play catch with his cap when he walks. How about Aron?”
“I’m afraid of that,” said Adam. “I don’t think I want him to know.”
“It might be too late.”
“I might have a talk with Aron. Kind of feel around.”
Lee considered. “Something’s happened to you too.”
“Has it? I guess it has,” said Adam.
But humming and sailing his cap, driving quickly through his schoolwork, were only
the smallest of Cal’s activities. In his new joy he appointed himself guardian of his
father’s content. It was true what he had said about not feeling hatred for his mother. But
that did not change the fact that she had been the instrument of Adam’s hurt and shame.
Cal reasoned that what she could do before, she could do again. He set himself to learn
all he could about her. A known enemy is less dangerous, less able to surprise.
At night he was drawn to the house across the tracks. Sometimes in the afternoon he
lay hidden in the tall weeds across the street, watching the place. He saw the girls come
out, dressed somberly, even severely. They left the house always in pairs, and Cal
followed them with his eyes to the corner of Castroville Street, where they turned left
toward Main Street. He discovered that if you didn’t know where they had come from
you couldn’t tell what they were. But he was not waiting for the girls to come out. He
wanted to see his mother in the light of day. He found that Kate emerged every Monday

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at one-thirty.
Cal made arrangements in school, by doing extra and excellent work, to make up for

his absences on Monday afternoons. To Aron’s questions he replied that he was working
on a surprise and was duty bound to tell no one. Aron was not much interested anyway.
In his self-immersion Aron soon forgot the whole thing.

Cal, after he had followed Kate several times, knew her route. She always went to the
same places—first to the Monterey County Bank where she was admitted behind the
shining bars that defended the safe-deposit vault. She spent fifteen or twenty minutes
there. Then she moved slowly along Main Street, looking in the store windows. She
stepped into Porter and Irvine’s and looked at dresses and sometimes made a purchase—
elastic, safety pins, a veil, a pair of gloves. About two-fifteen she entered Minnie
Franken’s beauty parlor, stayed an hour, and came out with her hair pinned up in tight
curls and a silk scarf around her head and tied under her chin.

At three-thirty she climbed the stairs to the offices over the Farmers’ Mercantile and
went into the consulting room of Dr. Rosen. When she came down from the doctor’s
office she stopped for a moment at Bell’s candy store and bought a two-pound box of
mixed chocolates. She never varied the route. From Bell’s she went directly back to
Castroville Street and thence to her house.

There was nothing strange about her clothing. She dressed exactly like any well-to-do
Salinas woman out shopping on a Monday afternoon—except that she always wore
gloves, which was unusual for Salinas.

The gloves made her hands seem puffed and pudgy. She moved as though she were
surrounded by a glass shell. She spoke to no one and seemed to see no one. Occasionally
a man turned and looked after her and then nervously went about his business. But for the
most part she slipped past like an invisible woman.

For a number of weeks Cal followed Kate. He tried not to attract her attention. And
since Kate walked always looking straight ahead, he was convinced that she did not
notice him.

When Kate entered her own yard Cal strolled casually by and went home by another
route. He could not have said exactly why he followed her, except that he wanted to
know all about her.

The eighth week he took the route she completed her journey and went into her
overgrown yard as usual.

Cal waited a moment, then strolled past the rickety gate.
Kate was standing behind a tall ragged privet. She said to him coldly, “What do you
want?”
Cal froze in his steps. He was suspended in time, barely breathing. Then he began a
practice he had learned when he was very young. He observed and catalogued details
outside his main object. He noticed how the wind from the south bent over the new little
leaves of the tall privet bush. He saw the muddy path beaten to black mush by many feet,
and Kate’s feet standing far to the side out of the mud. He heard a switch engine in the
Southern Pacific yards discharging steam in shrill dry spurts. He felt the chill air on the
growing fuzz on his cheeks. And all the time he was staring at Kate and she was staring
back at him. And he saw in the set and color of her eyes and hair, even in the way she
held her shoulders—high in a kind of semi-shrug—that Aron looked very like her. He did
not know his own face well enough to recognize her mouth and little teeth and wide

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cheekbones as his own. They stood thus for the moment, between two gusts of the
southern wind.

Kate said, “This isn’t the first time you’ve followed me. What do you want?”
He dipped his head. “Nothing,” he said.
“Who told you to do it?” she demanded.
“Nobody—ma’am.”
“You won’t tell me, will you?”
Cal heard his own next speech with amazement. It was out before he could stop it.
“You’re my mother and I wanted to see what you’re like.” It was the exact truth and it
had leaped out like the stroke of a snake.
“What? What is this? Who are you?”
“I’m Cal Trask,” he said. He felt the delicate change of balance as when a seesaw
moves. His was the upper seat now. Although her expression had not changed Cal knew
she was on the defensive.
She looked at him closely, observed every feature. A dim remembered picture of
Charles leaped into her mind. Suddenly she said, “Come with me!” She turned and
walked up the path, keeping well to the side, out of the mud.
Cal hesitated only for a moment before following her up the steps. He remembered the
big dim room, but the rest was strange to him. Kate preceded him down a hall and into
her room. As she went past the kitchen entrance she called, “Tea. Two cups!”
In her room she seemed to have forgotten him!. She removed her coat, tugging at the
sleeves with reluctant fat gloved fingers. Then she went to a new door cut in the wall in
the end of the room where her bed stood. She opened the door and went into a new little
lean-to. “Come in here!” she said. “Bring that chair with you.”
He followed her into a box of a room. It had no windows, no decorations of any kind.
Its walls were painted a dark gray. A solid gray carpet covered the floor. The only
furniture in the room was a huge chair puffed with gray silk cushions, a tilted reading
table, and a floor lamp deeply hooded. Kate pulled the light chain with her gloved hand,
holding it deep in the crotch between her thumb and forefinger as though her hand were
artificial.
“Close the door!” Kate said.
The light threw a circle on the reading table and only diffused dimly through the gray
room. Indeed the gray walls seemed to suck up the light and destroy it.
Kate settled herself gingerly among the thick down cushions and slowly removed her
gloves. The fingers of both hands were bandaged.
Kate said angrily, “Don’t stare. It’s arthritis. Oh—so you want to see, do you?” She
unwrapped the oily-looking bandage from her right forefinger and stuck the crooked
finger under the light. “There—look at it,” she said. “It’s arthritis.” She whined in pain as
she tenderly wrapped the bandage loosely. “God, those gloves hurt!” she said. “Sit
down.”
Cal crouched on the edge of his chair.
“You’ll probably get it,” Kate said. “My great-aunt had it and my mother was just
beginning to get it—” She stopped. The room was very silent.
There was a soft knock on the door. Kate called, “Is that you, Joe? Set the tray down
out there. Joe, are you there?”
A mutter came through the door.

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Kate said tonelessly, “There’s a litter in the parlor. Clean it up. Anne hasn’t cleaned her
room. Give her one more warning. Tell her it’s the last. Eva got smart last night. I’ll take
care of her. And, Joe, tell the cook if he serves carrots again this week he can pack up.
Hear me?”

The mutter came through the door.
“That’s all,” said Kate. “The dirty pigs!” she muttered. “They’d rot if I didn’t watch
them. Go out and bring in the tea tray.”
The bedroom was empty when Cal opened the door. He carried the tray into the lean-to
and set it gingerly on the tilted reading table. It was a large silver tray, and on it were a
pewter teapot, two paper-thin white teacups, sugar, cream, and an open box of chocolates.
“Pour the tea,” said Kate. “It hurts my hands.” She put a chocolate in her mouth. “I saw
you looking at this room,” she went on when she had swallowed her candy. “The light
hurts my eyes. I come in here to rest.” She saw Cal’s quick glance at her eyes and said
with finality, “The light hurts my eyes.” She said harshly, “What’s the matter? Don’t you
want tea?”
“No, ma’am,” said Cal, “I don’t like tea.”
She held the thin cup with her bandaged fingers. “All right. What do you want?”
“Nothing, ma’am.”
“Just wanted to look at me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Are you satisfied?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How do I look?” She smiled crookedly at him and showed her sharp white little teeth.
“All right.”
“I might have known you’d cover up. Where’s your brother?”
“In school, I guess, or home.”
“What’s he like?”
“He looks more like you.”
“Oh, he does? Well, is he like me ?”
“He wants to be a minister,” said Cal.
“I guess that’s the way it should be—looks like me and wants to go into the church. A
man can do a lot of damage in the church. When someone comes here, he’s got his guard
up. But in church a man’s wide open.”
“He means it,” said Cal.
She leaned toward him, and her face was alive with interest. “Fill my cup. Is your
brother dull?”
“He’s nice,” said Cal.
“I asked you if he’s dull.”
“No, ma’am,” said Cal.
She settled back and lifted her cup. “How’s your father?”
“I don’t want to talk about him,” Cal said.
“Oh, no! You like him then?”
“I love him,” said Cal.
Kate peered closely at him, and a curious spasm shook her—an aching twist rose in her
chest. And then she closed up and her control came back.
“Don’t you want some candy?” she asked.

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“Yes, ma’am. Why did you do it?”
“Why did I do what?”
“Why did you shoot my father and run away from us.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“No. He didn’t tell us.”
She touched one hand with the other and her hands leaped apart as though the contact
burned them. She asked, “Does your father ever have any—girls or young women come
to your house?”
“No,” said Cal. “Why did you shoot him and go away?”
Her cheeks tightened and her mouth straightened, as though a net of muscles took
control. She raised her head, and her eyes were cold and shallow.
“You talk older than your age,” she said. “But you don’t talk old enough. Maybe you’d
better run along and play—and wipe your nose.”
“Sometimes I work my brother over,” he said. “I make him squirm, I’ve made him cry.
He doesn’t know how I do it. I’m smarter than he is. I don’t want to do it. It makes me
sick.”
Kate picked it up as though it were her own conversation. “They thought they were so
smart,” she said. “They looked at me and thought they knew about me. And I fooled
them. I fooled every one of them. And when they thought they could tell me what to do—
oh! that’s when I fooled them best. Charles, I really fooled them then.”
“My name is Caleb,” Cal said. “Caleb got to the Promised Land. That’s what Lee says,
and it’s in the Bible.”
“That’s the Chinaman,” Kate said, and she went on eagerly, “Adam thought he had me.
When I was hurt, all broken up, he took me in and he waited on me, cooked for me. He
tried to tie me down that way. Most people get tied down that way. They’re grateful,
they’re in debt, and that’s the worst kind of handcuffs. But nobody can hold me. I waited
and waited until I was strong, and then I broke out. Nobody can trap me,” she said. “I
knew what he was doing. I waited.”
The gray room was silent except for her excited wheezing breath.
Cal said, “Why did you shoot him?”
“Because he tried to stop me. I could have killed him but I didn’t. I just wanted him to
let me go.”
“Did you ever wish you’d stayed?”
“Christ, no! Even when I was a little girl I could do anything I wanted. They never
knew how I did it. Never. They were always so sure they were right. And they never
knew—no one ever knew.” A kind of realization came to her. “Sure, you’re my kind.
Maybe you’re the same. Why wouldn’t you be?”
Cal stood up and clasped his hands behind his back. He said, “When you were little,
did you”—he paused to get the thought straight—”did you ever have the feeling like you
were missing something? Like as if the others knew something you didn’t—like a secret
they wouldn’t tell you? Did you ever feel that way?”
While he spoke her face began to close against him, and by the time he paused she was
cut off and the open way between them was blocked.
She said, “What am I doing, talking to kids!”
Cal unclasped his hands from behind him and shoved them in his pockets.
“Talking to snot-nosed kids,” she said. “I must be crazy.”

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Cal’s face was alight with excitement, and his eyes were wide with vision.
Kate said, “What’s the matter with you?”
He stood still, his forehead glistening with sweat, his hands clenched into fists.
Kate, as she had always, drove in the smart but senseless knife of her cruelty. She
laughed softly. “I may have given you some interesting things, like this—” She held up
her crooked hands. “But if it’s epilepsy—fits—you didn’t get it from me.” She glanced
brightly up at him, anticipating the shock and beginning worry in him.
Cal spoke happily. “I’m going,” he said. “I’m going now. It’s all right. What Lee said
was true.”
“What did Lee say?”
Cal said, “I was afraid I had you in me.”
“You have,” said Kate.
“No, I haven’t. I’m my own. I don’t have to be you.”
“How do you know that?” she demanded.
“I just know. It just came to me whole. If I’m mean, it’s my own mean.”
“This Chinaman has really fed you some pap. What are you looking at me like that
for?”
Cal said, “I don’t think the light hurts your eyes. I think you’re afraid.”
“Get out!” she cried. “Go on, get out!”
“I’m going.” He had his hand on the doorknob. “I don’t hate you,” he said. “But I’m
glad you’re afraid.”
She tried to shout “Joe!” but her voice thickened to a croak.
Cal wrenched open the door and slammed it behind him.
Joe was talking to one of the girls in the parlor. They heard the stutter of light quick
footsteps. But by the time they looked up a streaking figure had reached the door, opened
it, slipped through, and the heavy front door banged. There was only one step on the
porch and then a crunch as jumping feet struck earth.
“What in hell was that?” the girl asked.
“God knows,” said Joe. “Sometimes I think I’m seeing things.”
“Me too,” said the girl. “Did I tell you Clara’s got bugs under her skin?”
“I guess she seen-the shadow of the needle,” said Joe. “Well, the way I figure, the less
you know, the better off you are.”
“That’s the truth you said there,” the girl agreed.

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Chapter 40

1

Kate sat back in her chair against the deep down cushions. Waves of nerves cruised over
her body, raising the little hairs and making ridges of icy burn as they went.

She spoke softly to herself. “Steady now,” she said. “Quiet down. Don’t let it hit you.
Don’t think for a while. The goddam snot-nose!”

She thought suddenly of the only person who had ever made her feel this panic hatred.
It was Samuel Hamilton, with his white beard and his pink cheeks and the laughing eyes
that lifted her skin and looked underneath.

With her bandaged forefinger she dug out a slender chain which hung around her neck
and pulled the chain’s burden up from her bodice. On the chain were strung two safe-
deposit keys, a gold watch with a fleur-de-lis pin, and a little steel tube with a ring on its
top. Very carefully she unscrewed the top from the tube and, spreading her knees, shook
out a gelatine capsule. She held the capsule under the light and saw the white crystals
inside—six grains of morphine, a good, sure margin. Very gently she eased the capsule
into its tube, screwed on the cap, and dropped the chain inside her dress.

Cal’s last words had been repeating themselves over and over in her head. “I’m glad
you’re afraid.” She said the words aloud to herself to kill the sound. The rhythm stopped,
but a strong picture formed in her mind and she let it form so that she could inspect it
again.

2

It was before the lean-to was built. Kate had collected the money Charles had left. The
check was converted to large bills, and the bills in their bales were in the safe-deposit box
at the Monterey County Bank.

It was about the time the first pains began to twist her hands. There was enough money
now to go away. It was just a matter of getting the most she could out of the house. But
also it was better to wait until she felt quite well again.

She never felt quite well again. New York seemed cold and very far away.
A letter came to her signed “Ethel.” Who in hell was Ethel? Whoever she was, she
must be crazy to ask for money. Ethel—there were hundreds of Ethels. Ethels grew on
every bush. And this one scrawled illegibly on a lined pad.
Not very long afterward Ethel came to see Kate, and Kate hardly recognized her.
Kate sat at her desk, watchful, suspicious, and confident. “It’s been a long time,” she
said.
Ethel responded like a soldier who comes in his cushion age upon the sergeant who
trained him. “I’ve been poorly,” she said. Her flesh had thickened and grown heavy all
over her. Her clothes had the strained cleanliness that means poverty.
“Where are you—staying now?” Kate asked, and she wondered how soon the old bag
would be able to come to the point.

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“Southern Pacific Hotel. I got a room.”
“Oh, then you don’t work in a house now?”
“I couldn’t never get started again,” said Ethel. “You shouldn’t of run me off.” She
wiped big tears from the corners of her eyes with the tip of a cotton glove. “Things are
bad,” she said. “First I had trouble when we got that new judge. Ninety days, and I didn’t
have no record—not here anyways. I come out of that and I got the old Joe. I didn’t know
I had it. Give it to a regular—nice fella, worked on the section gang. He got sore an’
busted me up, hurt my nose, lost four teeth, an’ that new judge he give me a hundred and
eighty. Hell, Kate, you lose all your contacts in a hundred and eighty days. They forget
you’re alive. I just never could get started.”
Kate nodded her head in cold and shallow sympathy. She knew that Ethel was working
up to the bite. Just before it came Kate made a move. She opened her desk drawer and
took out some money and held it out to Ethel. “I never let a friend down,” she said. “Why
don’t you go to a new town, start fresh? It might change your luck.”
Ethel tried to keep her fingers from grabbing at the money. She fanned the bills like a
poker hand—four tens. Her mouth began to work with emotion.
Ethel said, “I kind of hoped you’d see your way to let me take more than forty bucks.”
“What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you get my letter?”
“What letter?”
“Oh’“ said Ethel. “Well, maybe it got lost in the mail. They don’t take no care of
things. Anyways, I thought you might look after me. I don’t feel good hardly ever. Got a
kind of weight dragging my guts down.” She sighed and then she spoke so rapidly that
Kate knew it had been rehearsed.
“Well, maybe you remember how I’ve got like second sight,” Ethel began. “Always
predicting things that come true. Always dreaming stuff and it come out. Fella says I
should go in the business. Says I’m a natural medium. You remember that?”
“No,” said Kate, “I don’t.”
“Don’t? Well, maybe you never noticed. All the others did. I told ’em lots of things and
they come true.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I had this-here dream. I remember when it was because it was the same night Faye
died.” Her eves flicked up at Kate’s cold face. She continued doggedly, “It rained that
night, and it was raining in my dream—anyways, it was wet. Well, in my dream I seen
you come out the kitchen door. It wasn’t pitch-dark—moon was coming through a little.
And the dream thing was you. You went out to the back of the lot and stooped over. I
couldn’t see what you done. Then you come creeping back.
“Next thing I knew—why, Faye was dead.” She paused and waited for some comment
from Kate, but Kate’s face was expressionless.
Ethel waited until she was sure Kate would not speak. “Well, like I said, I always
believed in my dreams. It’s funny, there wasn’t nothing out there except some smashed
medicine bottles and a little rubber tit from an eye-dropper.”
Kate said lazily, “So you took them to a doctor. What did he say had been in the
bottles?”
“Oh, I didn’t do nothing like that.”
“You should have,” said Kate.

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“I don’t want to see nobody get in trouble. I’ve had enough trouble myself. I put that
broke glass in an envelope and stuck it away.”

Kate said softly, “And so you are coming to me for advice?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ll tell you what I think,” said Kate. “I think you’re a worn-out old whore and you’ve
been beaten over the head too many times.”
“Don’t you start saying I’m nuts—” Ethel began.
“No, maybe you’re not, but you’re tired and you’re sick. I told you I never let a friend
down. You can come back here. You can’t work but you can help around, clean and give
the cook a hand. You’ll have a bed and you’ll get your meals. How would that be? And a
little spending money.”
Ethel stirred uneasily. “No, ma’am,” she said. “I don’t think I want to—sleep here. I
don’t carry that envelope around. I left it with a friend.”
“What did you have in mind?” Kate asked.
“Well, I thought if you could see your way to let me have a hundred dollars a month,
why, I could make out and maybe get my health back.”
“You said you lived at the Southern Pacific Hotel?”
“Yes, ma’am—and my room is right up the hall from the desk. The night clerk’s a
friend of mine. He don’t never sleep when he’s on duty. Nice fella.”
Kate said, “Don’t wet your pants, Ethel. All you’ve got to worry about is how much
does the ‘nice fella’ want. Now wait a minute.” She counted six more ten-dollar bills
from the drawer in front of her and held them out.
“Will it come the first of the month or do I have to come here for it?”
“I’ll send it to you,” said Kate. “And, Ethel,” she continued quietly, “I still think you
ought to have those bottles analyzed.”
Ethel clutched the money tightly in her hand. She was bubbling over with triumph and
good feeling. It was one of the few things that had ever worked out for her. “I wouldn’t
think of doing that,” she said. “Not unless I had to.”
After she had gone Kate strolled out to the back of the lot behind the house. And even
after years she could see from the unevenness of the earth that it must have been pretty
thoroughly dug over.
The next morning the judge heard the usual chronicle of small violence and nocturnal
greed. He only half listened to the fourth case and at the end of the terse testimony of the
complaining witness he asked, “How much did you lose?”
The dark-haired man said, “Pretty close to a hundred dollars.”
The judge turned to the arresting officer. “How much did she have?”
“Ninety-six dollars. She got whisky and cigarettes and some magazines from the night
clerk at six o’clock this morning.”
Ethel cried, “I never seen this guy in my life.”
The judge looked up from his papers. “Twice for prostitution and now robbery. You’re
costing too much. I want you out of town by noon.” He turned to the officer. “Tell the
sheriff to run her over the county line.” And he said to Ethel, “If you come back, I’ll give
you to the county for the limit, and that’s San Quentin. Do you understand?”
Ethel said, “Judge, I want to see you alone.”
“Why?”
“I got to see you,” said Ethel. “This is a frame.”

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