She looked at her mother sitting at the wheel, squinting at the road ahead, and she smiled, in a happy mood.
She began to sing: “All around the mulberry bush, The monkey chased—”
Her mother turned to her and screamed, “Shut up. I told you I detest that song. You make me sick, you miserable little-”
After that, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The curve ahead, the car skidding off the road, the tree.
The crash flung her out of the car. She was shaken, but unhurt. She got to her feet.
She could hear her mother, trapped in the car, screaming, “Get me out of here. Help me! Help me!”
And she stood there watching until the car finally exploded. “Hate? Do you want to hear more?”
Walter Manning said, “This has to be a unanimous decision. My daughter’s a professional artist, not a dilettante.”
“She did this as a favor. We can’t turn her down.... This has to be unanimous.”
“We’re either giving him my daughter’s painting or we don’t give him anything at all.”
She was parked at the curb, with the motor running. She watched Walter Manning cross the street, headed for the garage where he kept his car.
She put the car in gear and slammed her foot down on the accelerator.
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