"The letter!" he repeated, his face turning ashen white.
"The letter!" she reiterated. "The one you received from Jim Pizey yesterday. You have a lie ready! I see it trembling on your lips. Send it back, and mind it don't choke you! Where's the letter?"
"I haven't it."
"Where's the letter?"
"I've burnt it."
"You are a liar!" she said, quietly, looking steadily at him.
"You're drunk!" he cried, in a voice thick with passion, "If you don't go away I'll set the police on you."
"Do!" she replied, laughing scornfully, "and I'll tell them who you are in league with. Who do you think they will believe? You or me? You'll set the peelers on me, will you? You worn-out parcel of bones, it's more than your soul's worth--though that's not worth much. I'll tell them that you are in league with two of the biggest scoundrels in the colony. And I'll prove it too. You shall go out of here into quod, and out of quod into hell, Old Flick! You'll set the peelers on me, will you? Shall I call 'em in?" and she moved towards the door.
He threw one of his evil looks upon her, and, in his shaking voice, told her to stay where she was.
"Give me some drink," exclaimed Milly, taking the bottle as she spoke, and drinking from it again. "Do you know what I am going to do, Flick?" she asked, her mood suddenly changing. "I'm going to kill myself with drink."