there sobbing wrung her heart. Mechanically she began to stroke his head.
"And me eatin' my 'eart out in old London for you," she said in a strange, thick voice.
"That's orl very well in old London." He wagged his head resentfully. "But it's another story 'ere. Wot wiv the bloomin' climate, and the stink of the vats allus in a feller's nose, 'e ain't responsible for wot 'e does. As for me, I'm that derbilitated that I'm scared o' me own shadder."
"You weren't scared to tike a second wife."
"That was just it. I was scared. I took 'er fer peace sike. She wouldn't let me be. She worked in the jam factory and 'er 'ome was in one o' them cottages be'ind the hotel and she'd 'ang around no matter wot the weather was and walk to and fro wiv me and twinkle 'er eyes at me in a w'y—ow, you've no idear—w'y she arsked me to marry 'er, now I come to think of it!"
"'Ad she a reason?"
"Nao. None but 'er own cussedness. She was out to get married and I was the man 'er fawncy lit on."
"'Ow long ago was this?"
"Six months."
"Six months out of my life she's taken! And I don't s'pose she sets half the store on you I did." She slid to the floor beside him, her back against the wall, trembling from weakness.
His arm slid about her. "She don't set no store by me at all. 'Er one idear is to get all she can out o' me. She's a hard 'un, she is. Talk about bigermy—if she knowed about you she'd 'ave me clapped in gaol before you could say scat—and you'd be disgriced in this bloomin' country!"
They sat in silence now, two little cockney animals
