The Barn

And the meanness and the plannings and the discontent and the ache for attention were all gone from her face. She was very pretty and simple, and her face was sweet and young.

—I think I knowed from the very first. I think I knowed we’d never do her. He usta like to hear about it so much I got to thinking maybe we would.

And she continued to struggle, and her eyes were wild with terror. He shook her then, and he was angry with her. "Don’t you go yellin’," he said, and he shook her; and her body flopped like a fish. And then she was still, for Lennie had broken her neck.

If we could keep Curley in, we might. But Curley’s gonna want to shoot ’im. Curley’s still mad about his hand. An’ s’pose they lock him up an’ strap him down and put him in a cage. That ain’t no good, George.

"Lennie never done it in meanness," he said. "All the time he done bad things, but he never done one of ’em mean."

"I should of knew," George said hopelessly. "I guess maybe way back in my head I did."

As happens sometimes, a moment settled and hovered and remained for much more than a moment. And sound stopped and movement stopped for much, much more than a moment.

"I get lonely," she said. "You can talk to people, but I can’t talk to nobody but Curley. Else he gets mad. How’d you like not to talk to anybody?"

"I don’t want ta hurt you," he said, "but George’ll be mad if you yell." When she didn’t answer nor move he bent closely over her.

"... I coulda made somethin' of myself." She said darkly, "Maybe I will yet."