David Herbert Lawrence

She had put down her saucepan, and was stirring the sugar into the

beer. He dropped his two hands heavily on the table, and thrust his face

forwards at her.

"'Say you're not drunk,'" he repeated. "Why, nobody but a nasty little

bitch like you 'ud 'ave such a thought."

He thrust his face forward at her.

"There's money to bezzle with, if there's money for nothing else."

"I've not spent a two-shillin' bit this day," he said.

"You don't get as drunk as a lord on nothing," she replied. "And,"

she cried, flashing into sudden fury, "if you've been sponging on your

beloved Jerry, why, let him look after his children, for they need it."

"It's a lie, it's a lie. Shut your face, woman."

They were now at battle-pitch. Each forgot everything save the hatred of

the other and the battle between them. She was fiery and furious as he.

They went on till he called her a liar.

"No," she cried, starting up, scarce able to breathe. "Don't call me

that--you, the most despicable liar that ever walked in shoe-leather."

She forced the last words out of suffocated lungs.

"You're a liar!" he yelled, banging the table with his fist. "You're a

liar, you're a liar."

She stiffened herself, with clenched fists.

"The house is filthy with you," she cried.

"Then get out on it--it's mine. Get out on it!" he shouted. "It's me as

brings th' money whoam, not thee. It's my house, not thine. Then ger out

on't--ger out on't!"

"And I would," she cried, suddenly shaken into tears of impotence. "Ah,

wouldn't I, wouldn't I have gone long ago, but for those children. Ay,

haven't I repented not going years ago, when I'd only the one"--suddenly

drying into rage. "Do you think it's for YOU I stop--do you think I'd

stop one minute for YOU?"

"Go, then," he shouted, beside himself. "Go!"

"No!" She faced round. "No," she cried loudly, "you shan't have it ALL

your own way; you shan't do ALL you like. I've got those children to see

to. My word," she laughed, "I should look well to leave them to you."

"Go," he cried thickly, lifting his fist. He was afraid of her. "Go!"

"I should be only too glad. I should laugh, laugh, my lord, if I could

get away from you," she replied.

He came up to her, his red face, with its bloodshot eyes, thrust

forward, and gripped her arms. She cried in fear of him, struggled to be

free. Coming slightly to himself, panting, he pushed her roughly to the

outer door, and thrust her forth, slotting the bolt behind her with a

bang. Then he went back into the kitchen, dropped into his armchair, his

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