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Her place stank too. Stank like gangrene or something, as if it weren't bad enough that I had to be here for two hours every Thursday. I had to put up with the stench too.
But when I got in that day I noticed that things were different. Normally the old hag was waiting at the door, with a pocket watch. She'd tell me how I was late, how I'd never amount to anything, how I'd be damned to hell for what I did. Jesus lady, I'd say, it was only a fight then she'd go hobbling off through the house with her hands over her ears, going on about how I was using the Lord's name in vain. God damn it all.
But this time, nothing. She weren't waiting at the door. I can't say that it weren't a relief, but something about it smelled funny, like the whole apartment didn't smell bad enough. I called out for her, and I don't know what came over me, but for once I didn't call her Mrs Palmerston, I called her by her first name. Agnes. So I called out for her, but there weren't any response. I walked on through the apartment and found her sitting on an armchair in the living room, her face to the window, back to me. At first it looked for all the world like the old dear had given up the ghost, just gone and passed away in a chair. I was too scared to step into the room. But then she moved some, and I stepped in. Agnes, I said, you okay?
She didn't turn or move or nothing, she just stayed in her position, and when I stepped over and round I saw that she was crying, just sitting there and crying. And let me tell you something weird. Normally she had a hard face, the kind of face that was looking you over, looking for faults. But this weren't the same face. Damn it all if she didn't look for all the world like a little girl, nothing false or nothing, just a little girl upset with the world and crying. She looked at me and didn't say a word, just cried. And I just stood there for the longest time, the two of us just looking at each other. And there weren't nothing false about any of it.