"God will help, Feigele, and he will get better."
"It's four weeks since I put a farthing into the savings-bank."
"What do you want to save for?"
"What do I want to save for?" she asked with a startled look, as though something had frightened her. "Are you going to tell me that you will take me without a dowry?"
"What do you mean by 'without a dowry'? You are worth all the money in the world to me, worth my whole life. What do I want with your money? See here, my five fingers, they can earn all we need. I have two hundred rubles in the bank, saved from my earnings. What do I want with more?"
They are silent for a moment, with downcast eyes. "And your mother?" she asks quietly.
"Will you please tell me, are you marrying my mother or me? And what concern is she of yours?"
Feigele is silent.
"I tell you again, I'll take you just as you are—and you'll take me the same, will you?"
She puts the corner of her apron to her eyes, and cries quietly to herself.