Katya Roslev, who would be Katharine Ross so very soon now, rang up her first sale of the day and counted back the change. She did not notice that the customer seized her purchase and turned away without a smile or a word of thanks. Usually she marked the few who did thank you, you didn't get that kind much in a place like this: and she played a little game with herself, seeing how downright rude she could act to the others, before they'd take offense, threaten to call the manager. Funny how seldom they did: used to it, probably. The kind who came into a cheap store like this! Grab, snatch, I saw that first! and, Here, I'll take this, I was before her, you wait on me now or I don't bother with it, see! This kind of place.

She'd be through here, just no time at all -- leave this kind of thing' way behind. Off at noon, and she'd never come back. Never have to. Money -- a lot of money, enough. She'd be smart about it, get him to give it to her in little bills so's nobody would suspect -- maybe couldn't get it until Monday account of that, the banks -- But that wasn't really long to wait. Not when she'd waited so long already.

No need say anything at all to the old woman. She had it all planned out, how she'd do. She'd say she didn't feel good on Sunday, couldn't go to church -- there'd be a little argument, but she could be stubborn -- and when the old woman had gone, quick pack the things she'd need to take, all but the dress she'd wear Monday, and take the bag down to that place in the station where you could put things in a locker overnight, for a dime. Then on Monday morning -- or it might have to be Tuesday -- get up and leave just the usual time, and last thing, put the money in an envelope under the old woman's purse there in the drawer. She wouldn't be going to get that for an hour or so after Katya had left, go do the daily shopping. No need leave a note with it, either -- or maybe just something like, Don't worry about me, I'm going away to make a better life.