“But where is he—my brother?” cried Berel in despair.
“The devil knows, not me. I only know he owes me the rent!”
“Moisheh gone?” He felt the earth slipping from under him. He seized Hanneh Breineh’s hand imploringly. “You can squeeze me in with the other boarders—put me up on chairs—over the washtub—anywhere. I got no one but you!”
“No one but me?” Thrusting him down to his knees, she towered above him like some serpent-headed fury. “What did you ever done for me when you had it good that I should take pity on you now? Why was you such a stingy to me when you were rolling yourself in riches?”
Her voice came in thick gusts of passion, as the smouldering feeling of past neglect burst from her in volcanic wrath. “You black-hearted schnorrer, you!”
A crowd of neighbours and passers-by, who had gathered at her first cursing screams, now surged closer. With her passion for harangue, she was lifted to sublime heights of vituperative eloquence by her sensation-hungry audience.
“People! Give a look only! This soft idiot throws away all his money on a doll’s face, and then wants me to take the bread from the mouths of my own children to feed him!” She shook her fist in Berel’s face. “Loafer—liar! I was always telling you your bad end!”
A hoarse voice rose from the crowd.
“Pfui! the rotten rich one!”
“He used to blow from himself like a Vanderbilt!”