Mildred sat quite still, and when she heard Veda drive off she was consumed by a fury so cold that it almost seemed as though she felt nothing at all. It didn't occur to her that she was acting less like a mother than like a lover who had unexpectedly discovered an act of faithlessness, and avenged it.

She was a little given to rehearsing things in her mind, and having imaginary triumphs over people who had upset her in one way and another.

The hand that holds the money cracks the whip.