'That's true, isn't it?
The end HAS come....

You're sick of the whole show--dead sick--of the Bush--of everything ?--Aren't you?
Answer me straight, Bridget.' 'Yes, I am,' she replied recklessly.

'I hate the Bush--I--I hate everything.' 'Everything! Well, that settles it!' he said slowly.
Again there was silence, and then he said: 'You know I wouldn't want to keep you--especially now,'-- he did not add the words that were on his lips 'now that bad times are coming on me,'-- and she read a different application in the 'now.' 'I--I'd be glad for you to quit.

It's as you please--maybe the sooner the better.
I'll make everything as easy as I can for you.' 'You are very--considerate....' The sarcasm broke in her throat.
She moved abruptly, and stood gazing out over the plain till the hysterical, choking sensation left her.

Her back was to him.