‘There’s not enough there,’ said the girl. ‘I want it in the street.’
‘Then you won’t have it,’ replied Sikes. With which assurance he rose, locked the door, took the key out, and pulling her bonnet from her head, flung it up to the top of an old press. ‘There,’ said the robber. ‘Now stop quietly where you are, will you?’
‘It’s not such a matter as a bonnet would keep me,’ said the girl turning very pale. ‘What do you mean, Bill? Do you know what you’re doing?’
‘Know what I’m—Oh!’ cried Sikes, turning to Fagin, ‘she’s out of her senses, you know, or she daren’t talk to me in that way.’
‘You’ll drive me on the something desperate,’ muttered the girl placing both hands upon her breast, as though to keep down by force some violent outbreak. ‘Let me go, will you,—this minute—this instant.’
‘No!’ said Sikes.
‘Tell him to let me go, Fagin. He had better. It’ll be better for him. Do you hear me?’ cried Nancy stamping her foot upon the ground.
‘Hear you!’ repeated Sikes turning round in his chair to confront her. ‘Aye! And if I hear you for half a minute longer, the dog shall have such a grip on your throat as’ll tear some of that screaming voice out. Wot has come over you, you jade! Wot is it?’
‘Let me go,’ said the girl with great earnestness; then sitting herself down on the floor, before the door, she said, ‘Bill, let me go; you don’t know what you are doing. You don’t, indeed. For only one hour—do—do!’
‘Cut my limbs off one by one!’ cried Sikes, seizing her roughly by the arm, ‘If I don’t think the gal’s stark raving mad. Get up.’