“Oh, Mac,” she cried, jumping up in bed with a little scream, “how you hurt! Oh, that hurt me dreadfully.”
“Give me a little money,” answered the dentist, grinning, and pinching her again.
“I haven't a cent. There's not a—oh, MAC, will you stop? I won't have you pinch me that way.”
“Hurry up,” answered her husband, calmly, nipping the flesh of her shoulder between his thumb and finger. “Heise's waiting for me.” Trina wrenched from him with a sharp intake of breath, frowning with pain, and caressing her shoulder.
“Mac, you've no idea how that hurts. Mac, STOP!”
“Give me some money, then.”
In the end Trina had to comply. She gave him half a dollar from her dress pocket, protesting that it was the only piece of money she had.
“One more, just for luck,” said McTeague, pinching her again; “and another.”
“How can you—how CAN you hurt a woman so!” exclaimed Trina, beginning to cry with the pain.
“Ah, now, CRY,” retorted the dentist. “That's right, CRY. I never saw such a little fool.” He went out, slamming the door in disgust.