"Did you hit Peggy Ann?"
"No, honest. You ask her. It was something—well, she's just a scaredy-pants."
The ring of children drew in around Mink where she scowled at her work with spoons and a kind of square shaped arrangement of hammers and pipes. "There and there," murmured Mink.
"What's wrong?" said Mrs. Morris.
"Drill's stuck. Half way. If we could only get him all the way through, it'll be easier. Then all the others could come through after him."
"Can I help?"
"No'm, thanks. I'll fix it."
"All right. I'll call you for your bath in half an hour. I'm tired of watching you."
She went in and sat in the electric-relaxing chair, sipping a little beer from a half-empty glass. The chair massaged her back. Children, children. Children and love and hate, side by side. Sometimes children loved you, hated you, all in half a second. Strange children, did they ever forget or forgive the whippings and the harsh, strict words of command? She wondered. How can you ever forget or forgive those over and above you, those tall and silly dictators?
Time passed. A curious, waiting silence came upon the street, deepening.