“Hm ... hm, Lieutenant Jim. You’re so brittle.—O ever so much brittler than bottles.”
He looked at her in a pause that ended with a chuckle.
“O you don’t say!” The skin of his face was rough: his features were too big. He seemed carved—crudely—by a dull-souled sculptor.
“You’re a brittle child,” said Fanny.—Why do I speak so?
“And you?”
“I’m a child too. You and I are the children here. Yes we are! We two must look out!”
“Not Mark?... not Clara?... not Mangel?”
“O Mangel is old! and so is Tessie! and so is Clara. You are a stupid, stubborn child, I tell you. Look out. Me too. We mustn’t hurt each other.... And you’d better stop breaking the Law.”
“My dear sister child, you don’t seem to understand. I don’t break the Law.”
Fanny wavered.—Why do I speak so?