[Losing self-control and leaping in front of him in her terror.] What is't you say?
STRECKMANN
[Calmly returning her terrible gaze.] I said: A wench like you.
ROSE
An' what's the meanin' o' that?
STRECKMANN
That's got no special meanin'.
ROSE
[Clenches her fists and pierces him with her eyes in an intense passion of rage, hate, terror and consternation until in the consciousness of her powerlessness she drops her arms and utters almost whiningly the words:] I'll know how to get my good right about this!
[Holding her right arm before her weeping eyes and wiping her face with the left, she returns, sobbing brokenly, to her work.