“Miss Haggerwells,” I tried again, “you don’t understand—” “I think I understand very well. Dumb or not, get the slut out of here! Get her out right now, I say!”
“Barbara, youre not listening—” She continued to face me, her back to him. “I should have remembered you were a ladies’ man, Mr Self-taught Backmaker. No doubt you imagined Haggershaven to be some obscene liberty hall. Well, it isnt! You’d be wasting any further time you spent here. Get out!”
11. OF HAGGERSHAVEN
I suppose—recalling the inexplicable scene with Little Aggie—I was less astonished by her frenzy than I might have been. Besides, her rage and misunderstanding were anticlimactic after the succession of excitements I had been through that day. Instead of amazement I felt only uneasiness and tired annoyance.
Dorn steered Barbara out of the room with a combination of persuasion and gentle force disguised as solicitous soothing, leaving the girl and me alone. “Well,” I said, “well....”
The large eyes regarded me helplessly.
“Well, youve certainly caused me a lot of trouble....”
Dorn returned with two women, one middleaged, the other slightly younger, who flowed around the girl like soapy water, effectually sealing her away from all further masculine blunders, uttering little bubbly clucks and sudsy comfortings.
“Overwork, Backmaker,” Dorn mumbled. “Barbara’s been overworking terribly. You mustnt think—” “I don’t,” I said. “I’m just sorry she couldnt be made to realize what actually happened.”
“Hypersensitive; things that wouldnt ordinarily ... it’s overwork. Youve no idea. She wears herself out. Practically no nerves left.”