I can see her now, the darling. She had wetted the corner of her handkerchief with her little pink tongue and was rubbing the Buddha. Her hands had begun to tremble when he shouted.
“Put it down, can’t you? I’ve told you not to touch my things.”
“I’ve told you not to touch my things.”
“You inked him,” she said. She was giving one last rub as he rose, threatening.
“Put—it—down.”
And, poor child, she did put it down. Indeed, she dropped it at his feet.
“Oh!” she cried out, and stooped quickly and picked it up. Her large tear-glassed eyes glanced at him, frightened.
“He isn’t broken.”
“No thanks to you,” he growled.