"Where is she?"
"I dunno. Somewheres between here and Canada. May she rot there lik a sheep on its back, and her man too. Now say 'poor Rose.'"
He turned on her almost fiercely, his lips curled back from his teeth in a sneer.
"If you speak like that I'll say 'poor Reuben.'"
"Well, say it—you wöan't be far wrong. Wot sort o' chap am I to have pride? My farm's ruined, my wife's run away, my children have left me—wot right have I to be proud?"
"Because, though all those things have happened, you're holding your head up still."
"But I äun't—yesterday I wur fair crying and sobbing in front of all the children. In the kitchen, it wur—after supper—I put down my head on the table, and——"
"Hush, I don't want to hear any more. I can guess what you must have suffered. I expect you miss Rose."
"I do—justabout."