"Poison! you profligate," replied the other, regarding him with a Borgian expression.
"Holy Vargin! an' me screwed into the floor wid this threfalian gout," gasped Dan, his face bedewed with the effect of his mental agony. "Stop! you murdherin' ould witch! Stop! you have no right to sarve me this way. I don't belong to you at all," cried Dan, as a last resource.
"What do you mean by that, you miserable sinner?"
"I mean that you're no wife o' mine, the Lord be praised for it."
"Would you deny your honest wife, you cannibal?"
"I would—I do," cried he, desperately.
"You're not my husband?"
"I'll be upon my Bible oath I'm not."
"What—not Bulworthy?"
"The divil a toe, ma'm, savin' yer presence. I'm Dan Duff, the cobbler, from over the way."