"The devil's fury. You saw what she is."
"Do you live with her?"
"I did for seven years."
"Did she drink then?"
"Sometimes—not so bad."
"Well, none to hurt. I kept a coffee house."
"And made your wife a drunkard. How came she reduced to this dreadful condition? You are well dressed."
"I left her three months ago, and went West to find a place to move to. She said if she could go where nobody knew her she would reform. I left her in a comfortable room, with good furniture and good clothes. Now, where are they? All gone to the pawnbroker's; the money gone for rum—her virtue, shame, everything gone. How, what, and where do I find her? As you see, crazy drunk, in this miserable hole, in Cow Bay. And my boy, starved, made drunk, and—"
"What, have you a child by her, then?"