“Told him you’re a thief.”
“This woman’s a brute,” thought George.
“Have ye?”
“No, not exactly. How dare you question me?”
“Dare!” said Mrs. Bort; and George knew she was standing with her arms akimbo. “Dare!” she repeated crescendo; and apparently her aspect was threatening, for Neaera cried,
“Oh, I didn’t mean that. Do let me go.”
“Tell the truth, if your tongue’ll do it. The truth, will ye?”
“The deuce!” said George; for, following on this last speech, he heard a sob.
“No, I haven’t. I—oh, do have mercy on me!”
“Mercy! It’s not mercy, it’s a stick you want. But I’ll tell him.”