“You are insane to speak so,” she finally said. “My husband gave me money with which to purchase the articles upon which I work.”
He bent his lean, evil face to hers.
“That money he accepted from me,” he said.
She shrunk back a step.
“From you! I do not believe you.”
He fumbled in the bosom of his gown.
“Behold this,” he said, shaking before her eyes a piece of paper. “This is his receipt.”
She pushed the paper from her.
“I will not look at it,” she said.
“You are afraid.”