"'Sh-h-h!"
"We got to start over again, Poil—to the bone I'll work my fingers, I—"
"'Shh-h-h, mamma,'sh-h-h—somebody's knocking."
They raised their tear-ravaged faces in the attitude of listening, their eyes salt-bitten and glazed.
"It's—it's Izzy, baby. See how sorry he gets right away. He ain't a bad boy, Poil, only always I've spoilt him. Come in, my boy—come in, and go in to your papa."
The door swung open and fanned backward the stale air in a sharp gust, and the women sprang apart mechanically as automatons, the sagging, open-mouthed vacuity of surprise on Mrs. Binswanger's face, the tears still wet on her daughter's cheeks and lying lightly on her lashes like dew.
"Mr. Teitlebaum."
"Max!"
Mr. Teitlebaum hesitated at the threshold, the flavor of his amorous spirit tasty on his lips and curving them into a smile.
"That's my name! Hello, Pearlie girlie! How-dye-do, Mrs. Binswanger—what what—"