Thyra had never wanted a daughter , but she pitied and despised all sonless women . Chester 's dog whined suddenly and piercingly on the doorstep outside . He was tired of the cold stone and wanted his warm corner behind the stove . Thyra smiled grimly when she heard him . She had no intention of letting him in . She said she had always disliked dogs , but the truth , although she would not glance at it , was that she hated the animal because Chester loved him . She could not share his love with even a dumb brute . She loved no living creature in the world but her son , and fiercely demanded a like concentrated affection from him . Hence it pleased her to hear his dog whine . It was now quite dark ; the stars had begun to shine out over the shorn harvest fields , and Chester had not come . Across the lane Cynthia White had pulled down her blind , in despair of out-watching Thyra , and had lighted a lamp . Lively shadows of little girl-shapes passed and repassed on the pale oblong of light . They made Thyra conscious of her exceeding loneliness . She had just decided that she would walk down the lane and wait for Chester on the bridge , when a thunderous knock came at the east kitchen door . She recognized August Vorst 's knock and lighted a lamp in no great haste , for she did not like him . He was a gossip and Thyra hated gossip , in man or woman . But August was privileged . She carried the lamp in her hand , when she went to the door , and its upward-striking light gave her face a ghastly appearance . She did not mean to ask August in , but he pushed past her cheerfully , not waiting to be invited . He was a midget of a man , lame of foot and hunched of back , with a white , boyish face , despite his middle age and deep-set , malicious black eyes .
He pulled a crumpled newspaper from his pocket and handed it XXXXX Thyra .
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