“I don’t know what you mean.”
Avery did not know altogether what he meant. There was to him something hideous and detestable about Edward. Edward had been too much in his sight. Avery was full of Jewish vigour himself; the poorness and the pimples, the thinness and the hesitancy of Edward were revolting to him.
“You don’t know what I mean? Didn’t you know that Rhoda would have paid to get you out of this country, out of her sight, out of the sight of all decent people.”
Edward did not speak of the suggested commission to take Rhoda’s pictures to China. He knew very well that Avery was right. Rhoda would have paid to get him out of her sight. That was all she had meant. Her pictures, bad, mad, careful pictures, were still on the wall.
“Now she has gone,” said Avery. “She has forgotten me—she has worse than forgotten you.”
“Gone ... forgotten?” Edward thought. He could not connect violent words with the serene and reasonable Rhoda. He could not imagine her sturdy neat face distorted by fury or hysteria.
Avery said, “What do you want? Are you begging for her money again?”
“Yes,” said Edward. He sank down into a mire of disgust. He was feeling sick.
Avery snatched at a wallet on the table. He threw all the papers from it to the floor and there was a roll of money clinging to the brim of the wallet. “Take it, take it, take it, take it!” he shouted, slamming down one fifty dollar bill after another among the reeling cups on the table. “Oh, take it, take it, take it!...”