"You heard what I said, Becky."
"Well, then, ma, why—why don't you get the Memorial out of your head, dear? Pa built his own Memorial, ma. His memory lasts with everybody, anyway."
Aspen trembling laid hold of Mrs. Meyerburg, muddling her words. "You—ach—from her dead father yet she would take away the marble to his memory."
"Ma!"
"Ja, the marble to his memory! Bad girl, you! A man what lifted up with his hands those that came after so that hardly on the ground they got to put a foot. And now du—du what gives him no thanks! A Memorial to her papa, a Home for the Old and Poor what he always dreamed of building, she begrudges, she begrudges!"
"No, no, mamma, you don't understand!"
"A man what loved so the poor while he lived, shouldn't be able to do for the poor after he is dead too. You go, you bad girl you, to your grand nobleman what won't take you if you ain't worth every inch your weight in gold, you—"
"Mamma—mamma, if you don't stop your terrible talk I—I'll faint, I tell you!"
"You go and your brother Felix and his fine wife with you, for the things what money can buy. You got such madness for money, sometimes like wolfs you all feel to me breathing on my back, you go and—"
"I tell you if—if you don't stop that terrible talk I—I'll faint, I will! Oh, why don't I die—why—why—why?"