“Is that putting on airs, Jim?”
Statt stirred in discomfort.
“You’re right,” she went on. “It’s the worst sort of putting on airs.”
“There, you see? The damn little weasel! I’ll stand none of his nonsense!”
“He don’t give you any, Jim.”
“Well, you know what I mean.”
“I know that you hate him because he’s just himself.”
“Jew!”
“He’s cringing and a coward. But even so, he makes us feel small, don’t he, Jim?”
“Us small? Are you crazy? Us small?”