Time wasted. The past hour gone.
Portia peeled potatoes at the kitchen table. She was slumped over and her face was dolorous.
‘Hold up your shoulders,’ he said angrily. ‘And cease moping.
You mope and drool around until I cannot bear to look on you.’
‘I were just thinking about Willie,’ she said. ‘Course the letter is only three days due. But he got no business to worry me like this. He not that kind of a boy. And I got this queer feeling.’
