[In extreme consternation.] You're not right in your mind. Don't start that kind o' business!
HANNE, shedding crocodile tears, holds her apron to her eyes.
HENSCHEL
Well now, look here, lass: you're not goin' to play me that kind of a trick now! That would be fine! Who's goin' to manage the house? Summer's almost with us now an' you want to leave me in the lurch?
HANNE
[With the same gesture.] 'Tis the little one I feels sorry for!
HENSCHEL
If you don't take care of her, who's goin' to?
HANNE
[After a space collecting herself apparently by an effort of the will. Quietly:] It can't be done no different.