That's what I was to have had, and they ain't going to come.

They ain't ever going to come any more." Trina took the little slate from him and looked at it ruefully.
"Rub them out," she said, her voice trembling; "rub it all out;" and as she spoke her eyes brimmed again, and a great tear dropped on the slate.
"That's it," she said; "that's the way to rub it out, by me crying on it." Then she passed her fingers over the tear-blurred writing and washed the slate clean.

"All gone, all gone," she said.
"All gone," echoed the dentist.

There was a silence.

Then McTeague heaved himself up to his full six feet two, his face purpling, his enormous mallet-like fists raised over his head.