“But it’s a horrible, ugly dress,” said Oliver, almost in tears.
“It’s what you’re going to wear. I’ll buy the stuff to-morrow and make it myself. What colour would you like?”
“I won’t wear it.”
“Then you can go back to your shop.”
“You know I can’t. I’ve said good-bye to all the girls.”
“Then you’ll wear the dress.”
“I shan’t.”
“For God’s sake don’t quarrel,” said Mendel. “One would think you had been married for ten years. Let her wear what she likes until she wants some new clothes.”
“Highty Tighty! Little boy!” sang Oliver. “You talk as though I were a little girl.”
“You behave like one,” snapped Mendel, and her face was overcast with a cloud of malignant sulkiness.