Aggie took advantage of the pause. Her voice was acid.
“Some people are sneaks—just sneaks!”
Somehow, the speech was welcome to the girl, gave her a touch of courage sufficient for cowardly protestations. It seemed to relieve the tension drawn by the other woman's torment. It was more like the abuse that was familiar to her. A gush of tears came.
“I'll never forgive myself, never!” she moaned.
Contempt mounted in Mary's breast.
“Oh, yes, you will,” she said, malevolently. “People forgive themselves pretty easily.” The contempt checked for a little the ravages of her grief. “Stop crying,” she commanded harshly. “Nobody is going to hurt you.” She thrust the money again toward the girl, and crowded it into the half-reluctant, half-greedy hand.
“Take it, and get out.” The contempt in her voice rang still sharper, mordant.
Even the puling creature writhed under the lash of Mary's tones. She sprang up, slinking back a step.
“I can't take it!” she cried, whimpering. But she did not drop the money.
“Take the chance while you have it,” Mary counseled, still with the contempt that pierced even the hardened girl's sense of selfishness. She pointed toward the door. “Go!—before I change my mind.”