HENSCHEL
She don't lack for nothin'. She's gone to bed. She's gone to sleep betimes—Gustel has. I don't mean Berthel.
MRS. HENSCHEL
[Wailing, stuffs her apron into her mouth.] I'll run away! I won't stay here!
HENSCHEL
—Go to bed, go! I'll come too. Your cryin' can't help no more now. 'Tis our Lord alone knows whose fault it is. You can't help it; you don't need to cry.—Our Lord an' me—we two, we knows.
[He turns the key in the door.
MRS. HENSCHEL
[Hastily turning it back again.] Why d'you lock the door? I won't stand bein' locked in.