‘No, you won’t,’ replied the elder girl, in a disagreeable voice. ‘You’ll eat this or go without.’
She had an unpleasing appearance. Her face was very thin, her lips pinched sourly together, her eyes furtive, hungry, malevolent. Her movements were awkward and impatient, and a morbid nervousness kept her constantly starting, with a stealthy look here or there.
‘I shall have the cheese if I like!’ shouted the boy, a very ill-conditioned youngster, whose face seemed to have been damaged in recent conflict. His clothes were dusty, and his hair stood up like stubble.
‘Hold your row, Tom,’ said the younger girl, who was quiet and had the look of an invalid. ‘It’s always you begins. Besides, you can’t have cheese; there’s only a little bit, and Sidney said he was going to make his dinner of it to-day.’
‘Of course—selfish beast!’
‘Selfish! Now just listen to that, Amy! when he said it just that we mightn’t be afraid to finish the meat.’
Amy said nothing, but began to hack fragments off the bone.
‘Put some aside for father first,’ continued Annie, holding a plate.
‘Father be blowed!’ cried Tom. ‘You just give me that first cut. Give it here, Annie, or I’ll crack you on the head!’
As he struggled for the plate, Amy bent forward and hit his arm violently with the handle of the knife. This was the signal for a general scrimmage, in the midst of which Tom caught up a hearth-brush and flung it at Amy’s head. The missile went wide of its mark and shivered one of the window-panes.