Read the excerpt from chapter 8 of Obasan by Joy
Kogawa.
I can hear the scratch slap of the tree's fingers by
the kitchen window this morning. The tree's outline is
blurred through the plastic covering the pane. Ever
since Obasan's operation for cataracts, she's lived in a
darkened house. The branches of the tree are as
elastic as whips in the gusts-slap clatter clatter,
insistent as a drummer.
What is the mood of the excerpt?
O annoyed and exhausted
Opointless and numb
gloomy and frightening
serious and confused