She died in one of the downstairs rooms, in a heavy walnut bed, her gray head propped on a pillow
yellow and moldy with age and lack of sunlight, her voice cold and strong to the end.

"But not till I'm gone," she said. "Dont you let a soul in until I'm gone, do you hear?" Standing
beside the bed, his head in the dim light haloed by a faint nimbus of napped, perfectly white hair, the
negro made a brief sign with his hand. Miss Emily lay with her eyes wide open, gazing into the
opposite shadows of the room. Upon the coverlet her hands lay on her breast, gnarled, blue with
age, motionless. "Hah" she said [illegible]. "Then they can. Let 'em go up there and see what's in
that room. And you wont be the last one, either. Will you?"

"I wont have to," the negro said. "I <been knowing> know what's in <there.> that room <all the time>. I wont have to."

"Hah," Miss Emily said. "You <have,> do, do you. How long have you known?"

Again the negro made that gesture with his hand. Miss Emily had not turned her head. She gazed
into the shadows where the high dim ceiling was lost. "You should be glad. This house is to be
yours. I made the will [illegible] years ago. Colonel Sartoris has it. He'll see that you get it. <What>
..... What are you [illegible] with it? Sell it and throw the money away?"

"I dont want <no hou> any house," the negro said.

"You cant help you[illegible] written and sealed [illegible] You'll have to take it."

"I wont [illegible] it. I [illegible]nt any house."

"What are you doing to do, then?"

"Going to the poorhouse."

"The poorhouse? When I'm trying to give you enough to keep you <in [illegible]> without worry for the rest of
your life?"

"I dont want [noth?]," the negro said. "I'm going to the poorhouse. I already told them."

"Well," Miss Emily said. She had not moved her head, not moved at all. "Do you mind telling me
why you want to go to the poorhouse?"