[No longer able to control herself, screams, still crying.] My children's starvin'. [Sobs and moans.] I don't know what to do no more! I c'n work till I drops—I'm more dead'n alive—things don't get different! There's nine hungry mouths to fill! We got a bit o' bread last night, but it wasn't enough even for the two smallest ones. Who was I to give it to, eh? They all cried; Me, me, mother! give it to me!… An' if it's like this while I'm still on my feet, what'll it be when I've to take to bed? Our few taters was washed away. We haven't a thing to put in our mouths.
BERTHA
[Has removed the bit of glass and washed the wound.] We'll put a rag round it. Emma, see if you can find one.
MOTHER BAUMERT
We're no better off'n you, Jenny.
MRS. HEINRICH
You has your girls, any way. You've a husband as c'n work. Mine was taken with one o' his fits last week again—so bad that I didn't know what to do with him, and was half out o' my mind with fright. And when he's had a turn like that, he can't stir out o' bed under a week.
MOTHER BAUMERT
Mine's no better. He's goin' to pieces, too. He's breathin's bad now as well as his back. An' there's not a farthin' nor a farthin's worth in the house. If he don't bring a few pence with him today, I don't know what we're to do.