Struggling against Elizabeth always made her feel like a teenager - weak, and mad about it. What must Helen and Jo be thinking as she gripped them by the hands? This wasn't a safe place for stopping. She could feel them being tugged this way and that by the current of the crowd, eddying uncertainly about her legs. They could go one way or another, but the going was imperative. They wanted to get on the train. They were excited about a summer weekend at the big house in New Jersey. They didn't know that in the past it had been a different sort of house. They liked their grandparents. They liked their cousin and their uncle Neal. 'I'm sorry Mommy and Grandma are disagreeing,' she told them quietly. Helen shrugged. Jo didn't seem to be paying attention; she was watching the slow-motion chomp of the escalator teeth. Margaret could never quite tell if grown-up disagreements (she didn't like to call them arguments) upset them. They must, because she remembered her own agony as a child in moments like these. She would have been staring at the station floor, wishing she could fall right through it into the squirming rat pits below.