"Hurt him!" Roger burst forth. "How can you be so foolish! He ought to be beaten within an inch of his life. He's gotten drunk on cologne!"
"Roger, he's never been this bad before. He's been growing slowly better all these years. He never struck me before."
"And you've been living with a drunkard all these years who might have killed you. You knew this, yet you let little Felicia come to you. How could you do it?" Roger paced up and down the floor.
Charley looked at him piteously, but he went on, his voice growing louder.
"You must know that a periodic drunkard is the worst kind and almost never cured. I thought you were unafraid of truth, but you've been living just like a sentimental woman, after all."
Charley raised her hands and dropped them as if in despair. "I promised mother I'd never leave him. And he's put up a fight. Oh, you'll never know what a fight! And I love him. He's a dear when he's not drinking."
Dick roared again and Roger stared at Charley's sick white face.
"Promise me you won't hurt him, Roger."
"How can I promise when I know if I get another glimpse of him I'll break every bone in his carcass?"
Again Charley dropped her hands with that despairing gesture. "Then how can I help fearing your dreadful temper as much as I do Dick's drinking? What difference is there?"