He kicked the roll with his foot. The stuff unrolled more and Jenny cried aloud as though it was her papoose that her savage man ill-used.
"I don' know why he give it me," she squealed.
"Him velly kin' man always. Oh, don' tear it, Pete, oh, oh!"
With his hands he ripped the silk in fragments.
"You damn bad woman, mesahchie klootchman," he roared. "You no take such a ting from Mr. Quin! You look at him lika you look at Spanish Joe the other day: I see you."
"You no see me do anyting wrong," Jenny cried, weeping bitterly. "I don' lika Spanish Joe. 'Tis a lie, Pete. And I no can help if Mr. Quin give me tings. I a very good woman, on the Bible I swear it. I quite virtuous; Mr. Quin he no touch me, I swear it. Don' tear it no more. Pete, oh, don'!"
He set his foot on the silk and ripped full twenty yards into fragments. The room was full of shining stuff, of red and yellow and green: the floor was gorgeous with colour, and as he exhausted his rage upon what he had found and was quite pitiless, her little flower of love for him seemed to die in her outraged heart, which loved beautiful things so much. Now she had nothing left, her visions passed from her. She sat down on the floor and howled aloud, keening over the death of the beautiful dress. She was no longer full of pride, and conscious of her beauty: she was no more than a poor dirty ill-used, heart-broken little klootchman, no more thought of than dirty old Annie and Annawillee, who mourned so sadly the other happy night.
"Aya, yaya, hyaalleha," she cried aloud. "Hyas klahowyam nika, very miser'ble, aya!"
And Pete ran out of the shack leaving her moaning.
"That make her know what, eh?" said Pete. He worked furiously at the Mill, without any food, and was very unhappy, of course, though he knew he had done quite right in tearing the silk to pieces, and in knocking thunder out of his klootchman. He didn't believe she had been "real wicked," but when it came to taking presents from Mr. Quin, and lying about them, it was time to look out.