MARY. You were afraid?
JOE. I don't want you taken to prison.
MARY. [With a wail.] I'll be taken to the graveyard soon, in a pauper's coffin!
JOE. [Starts suddenly.] Suppose we did that?
MARY. [Staring.] The workhouse?
JOE. Why not, after all? That's what it will come to, sooner or later.
MARY. They'd separate us.
JOE. At least you and the kiddie'd have food.
MARY. They'd separate us. And I love you, Joe. My poor, poor Joe! I love you.
[She nestles up to him and takes his hand.