‘I’ll bet you what you like she does!’ cried Bob.
Clem glared at him.
‘Oh, you an’ your Pennyloaf! Likely she tells you the truth. You’re so fond of each other, ain’t you! Tells you everything, does she?—and the way you treat her!’
‘Who’s always at me to make me treat her worse still?’ Bob retorted half angrily, half in expostulation.
‘Well, and so I am, ’cause I hate the name of her! I’d like to hear as you starve her and her brats half to death. How much money did you give her last week? Now you just tell me the truth. How much was it?’
‘How can I remember? Three or four bob, I s’pose.’
‘Three or four bob!’ she repeated, snarling. ‘Give her one, and make her live all the week on it. Wear her down! Make her pawn all she has, and go cold!’
Her cheeks were on fire; her eyes started in the fury of jealousy; she set her teeth together.
‘I’d better do for her altogether,’ said Bob, with an evil grin.
Clem looked at him, without speaking; kept her gaze on him; then she said in a thick voice: