She lay on her bed, her eyes closed, her face buried in a pile of gold that she encircled with both her arms.
Trina even told herself at last that she was happy once more.

McTeague became a memory--a memory that faded a little every day--dim and indistinct in the golden splendor of five thousand dollars.
"And yet," Trina would say, "I did love Mac, loved him dearly, only a little while ago.

Even when he hurt me, it only made me love him more.
How is it I've changed so sudden?
How COULD I forget him so soon?
It must be because he stole my money.

That is it.

I couldn't forgive anyone that--no, not even my MOTHER.