His gaze was lowered. He began fumbling in his pocket for a cigar.
"Course not," he said reluctantly. He peered hard at the opaque
sidewall uncomfortably conscious of the scornful look she bent upon
him. Neither spoke for a long time.
"How much lower can you sink?" she asked in low tones.
"Don't you turn against me like this," he returned sullenly.
"I have endured too long--too long," she said lifelessly.
"Now, shut up, Mary. Shut up your trap. I'm sick of having you whining
all the time--"
"Whining!" she cried. "God in heaven!"
"Well, belly-achin', then." Her bitter laugh irritated him. "Say, I
got to talk this business over with you. We've got to understand each
other."
"We _do_ understand each other," she said, a note of decision in
her voice. "You are ready to prostitute me for the sake of worming
money out of that horrid beast. I loathe him. You know it, and yet you
force me to meet him. I am going to end it all. Either he leaves this
show, or I do. I will not endure this unspoken but manifest insult a
day longer. Do you understand me?"
"I'd like to know how you're going to help it," he said, glaring at
her with half-restored belligerence.
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