There was no question but that she could do it. Just like the day she arrived at 124 — sure enough,she had milk enough for all.
Beloved came through the door and they ought to have heard hertread, but they didn't.
Breathing and murmuring, breathing and murmuring. Beloved heard them as soon as the doorbanged shut behind her. She jumped at the slam and swiveled her head toward the whisperscoming from behind the white stairs. She took a step and felt like crying. She had been so close,then closer. And it was so much better than the anger that ruled when Sethe did or thoughtanything that excluded herself. She could bear the hours — -nine or ten of them each day but one— -when Sethe was gone. Bear even the nights when she was close but out of sight, behind wallsand doors lying next to him. But now — even the daylight time that Beloved had counted on,disciplined herself to be content with, was being reduced, divided by Sethe's willingness to payattention to other things. Him mostly. Him who said something to her that made her run out intothe woods and talk to herself on a rock. Him who kept her hidden at night behind doors. And himwho had hold of her now whispering behind the stairs after Beloved had rescued her neck and wasready now to put her hand in that woman's own.
Beloved turned around and left. Denver had not arrived, or else she was waiting somewhereoutside. Beloved went to look, pausing to watch a cardinal hop from limb to branch. She followedthe blood spot shifting in the leaves until she lost it and even then she walked on, backward, stillhungry for another glimpse.
She turned finally and ran through the woods to the stream. Standing close to its edge she watchedher reflection there. When Denver's face joined hers, they stared at each other in the water.
"You did it, I saw you," said Denver.
"What?"

"I saw your face. You made her choke."
"I didn't do it."
"You told me you loved her."
"I fixed it, didn't I? Didn't I fix her neck?"
"After. After you choked her neck."