"Oh no, Emanuel, love, don't say that; not after all these months?"
"Go away!" cried Emanuel hoarsely.
"Be not so obstinate," she persisted, in wheedling accents, stroking his flaming cheeks. "Kiss little Joshua and little Miriam."
Here the spectators became aware of two woebegone infants dragging at her skirts.
"Go away!" repeated Emanuel passionately, and pushed her from him with violence.
The ugly, shabby woman burst into hysterical tears.
"My own husband, dear people," she sobbed, addressing the room. "My own husband—married to me in Poland five years ago. See, I have the Cesubah!" She half drew the marriage parchment from her bosom. "And he won't live with me! Every time he runs away from me. Last time I saw him was in Liverpool, on the eve of Tabernacles. And before that I had to go and find him in Newcastle, and he promised me never to go away again—yes, you did, you know you did, Emanuel, love. And here have I been looking weeks for you at all the furriers and tailors, without bread and salt for the children, and the Board of Guardians won't believe me, and blame me for coming to London. Oh, Emanuel, love, God shall forgive you."
Her dress was dishevelled, her wig awry; big tears streamed down her cheeks.
"How can I live with an old witch like that?" asked Emanuel, in brutal self-defence.
"There are worse than me in the world," rejoined the woman meekly.