And I was sorry for her, because she seemed to be having such a bad time.
At last Mrs.Hutch got up to leave, marching out as determinedly as she had marched in.

At the door she turned, in undiminished wrath, to shoot her parting dart:-- "And if Mr.Anton does not bring me the rent on Monday, I will serve notice of eviction on Tuesday, without fail." We breathed when she was gone.

My mother wiped away a few tears, and went to the baby, crying in the windowless, air-tight room.
I was the first to speak.
"Isn't she queer, mamma!" I said.

"She never remembers how to say our name.

She insists on saying _Anton--Anton_.