“Lor’! There’s talking. How women do like to make a man wriggle. I never was much in the wriggling line myself, not being the build for it. But a ’ead’s worth having, too. I never had much ’ead myself. Too affectionate myself. What a pretty little thing you was, to be sure. Feeling it bad, my pretty?”
“Hellish bad,” replied Ann.
“There, there.”
“I never thought I’d feel anything so bad. I want to hate him, but I can’t. I do hate that Kilner. I’d like to see him dead.”
“There, there. ’Orses has wunnerful strong dislikes, too.”
Ann said:
“It’s enough to make a woman scream, the way men talk.”
Old Martin’s huge face expanded in astonishment. He reached out his hand for a pipe, filled it, conveyed it to his mouth, and sank into a brooding silence. He broke it at length to say:
“Women has a great scorn o’ men, and I don’t know but what they deserve it.”