She did not pick it up. She did not need to. She stood in the doorway for what felt like a very long time with her hand on the head of her cane, and Kurt saw her mouth tighten, and then her chin come up, and then something else in her face, something that was very old and very private, closing like a door.
"Delphine," she said. "Why are you crying?"
"I'm not, Mrs. D."
"Don't you tell me that. I have eyes." She came into the room. She did it slowly, the cane first and then her right foot and then her left, and Kurt moved out of her way without being asked, back against the shelves, and she went past him without looking at him as if he were a piece of furniture someone had left in a bad place. She stopped in front of the girl and looked down at her. "Stand up, baby. Off that cold floor."
The girl stood up. She was still holding the cookie tin. Mrs. Dunning looked at it, and then reached out and took the girl's wrist, gently, and turned it, and pushed the sweatshirt sleeve up with one crooked finger. She looked at the marks for a long moment. Then she pushed up the other sleeve and looked at those.
When she turned around, Kurt understood that he was not going to be allowed to look away from her face.
"You did this," she said.
"Yes, ma'am."
"To this child."
"Yes, ma'am."