"'He's rich,' she says to me. 'He'll pay. Don't you know enough to stick him. I'll knock off fifty cents, you say all right. He'll pay it. And tomorrow you come round and I'll give you three dollars.' Now wot do you think of that? Say. Do you know wot I did?"
I could not guess.
"I spit at her. I said 'You ....'" (Among the other epithets were "cross-eyed" and "hook-nosed.")
"Well—how much did you pay at last?" I asked.
"I think," said Norman, "she could have got it for the seventeen...."
"Sure, I could," Nina interrupted. "But he was in a hurry and gave the ... thief twenty. It...."
The lights went down, the curtain up and a woman, whom I would not have trusted to be kind to her own children, brought on a troupe of pitiable dogs. Nina turned back to watch the stage.
"So you think," Norman reverted to the former subject, "that I ought to marry her?"
"Of course not."
"If you have any reasons why I shouldn't that are not pure snobbishness, I'd like to hear them."