"Peggy," said Morgan, fixing her with a stern eye, "Peggy, you — have — been — drinking."
"Hoo!" cried Peggy, lifting her arm with a conquering gesture by way of emphasis. Her eyes were bright and pleased.
" Why have you been drinking?"
"Why not?" inquired Peggy, with the air of one clinching a point.
"Well then," said Morgan magnanimously "have another. Pour her a glass of fizz, Skipper. All I thought was after all that bawling and screaming this afternoon—"
"You did. You bawled and screamed this afternoon about Curt being shut up in a foul dungeon with the rats, and—"
"I hate him!" Peggy said passionately. She became tense and fierce, and moisture came into her eyes. "I hate and loathe him and despise him, that's what I do. I don't ever want to hear his name again, ever, ever, ever! Gimme a drink."
"My God!" said Morgan, starting up. "What's happened now?"
"Ooo, how I loathe him! He wouldn't even speak to me, the f-filthy w-wretch," she said, her lip trembling. "Don't ever mention his name again, Hank. I'll get blind, speechless drunk, that's what I'll do, and that'll show him, it will, and I hope the rats gnaw him, too. And I had a big basket of fruit for him, and all he did was lie there and pretend he was asleep, that's what he did; and I said, "All right!", so I went upstairs and I met Leslie — Mr. Perrigord — and he said, would I like to listen to his speech? And I said yes, if he didn't mind my drinking, and he said he never touched spirits, but he didn't mind if I did; so we sort of went to his cabin—"
"Have another drink, Mrs. Perrigord — Cynthia!" roared Morgan, to drown out the possibilities of this. "Pour everybody a drink. Ha-ha!"