ANNA—I s'pose he lives on the boat, don't he?
MARTHY—Sure. What about it? Can't you live on it, too?
ANNA—[Scornfully.] Me? On a dirty coal barge! What d'you think I am?
MARTHY—[Resentfully.] What d'yuh know about barges, huh? Bet yuh ain't never seen one. That's what comes of his bringing yuh up inland—away from the old devil sea—where yuh'd be safe—Gawd! [The irony of it strikes her sense of humor and she laughs hoarsely.]
ANNA—[Angrily.] His bringing me up! Is that what he tells people! I like his nerve! He let them cousins of my Old Woman's keep me on their farm and work me to death like a dog.
MARTHY—Well, he's got queer notions on some things. I've heard him say a farm was the best place for a kid.
ANNA—Sure. That's what he'd always answer back—and a lot of crazy stuff about staying away from the sea—stuff I couldn't make head or tail to. I thought he must be nutty.
MARTHY—He is on that one point. [Casually.] So yuh didn't fall for life on the farm, huh?
ANNA—I should say not! The old man of the family, his wife, and four sons—I had to slave for all of 'em. I was only a poor relation, and they treated me worse than they dare treat a hired girl. [After a moment's hesitation—somberly.] It was one of the sons—the youngest—started me—when I was sixteen. After that, I hated 'em so I'd killed 'em all if I'd stayed. So I run away—to St. Paul.
MARTHY—[Who has been listening sympathetically.] I've heard Old Chris talkin' about your bein' a nurse girl out there. Was that all a bluff yuh put up when yuh wrote him?