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Irene is the narrator’s sister, who is also unmarried and in her forties. She is presented through the narrator’s point of view. Irene, much like her brother, seems happy to maintain the status quo of living in their family home together, repeating the same tasks over and over again until their deaths. Irene spends most of the story knitting, which illustrates the repetitive, pointless nature of her existence. Irene’s knitting often becomes ominous as she unravels jackets that displease her and hides away her surplus of knitted shawls in a chest. The mindless but intense way she focuses on her knitting shows she has no room in her psyche to process anything happening in her external world. Irene cannot seem to make any choices for herself and does whatever the narrator tells her to do with little questioning or protest. The only time she can express herself is when she calls out in her sleep. As the intruders close in on them, Irene clings to her knitting as a psychological clutch to avoid the discomfort of change. Ultimately, it is this passivity that shatters her entire world. The knitting trails after Irene under the door at the end of the story, and she only leaves it behind because she is forced to.

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