"Is it such a crime to borrow a little money?" I asked.
"Not if you pay it back," she returned. "Not if you mean to pay it back. But you know you can't. You know you won't!"
"You think it's the thin edge of the wedge?" I said. "The beginning of the end and all that kind of thing?"
"You will go on," she cried. "You will become a dependent in this house, a hanger-on, a sponger. I will hate you. You will hate yourself. It went through me like a knife when I found it out."
I smoked my cigar in silence. I suppose she was quite right— horribly right, though I didn't like her any better for being so plain-spoken about it. I felt myself turning red under her gaze.
"What do you want me to do?" I said at length.
"Pay it back," she said.
"I wish to God I could," I said. "But you know how I live, Teresa, hanging on by the skin of my teeth—hardly able to keep my head above water, let alone having a dollar to spare."
"Then you can't pay," she said.
"I don't think I can," I returned.