"Ter-night--workin'"
"All night; one the saeme as another."
"But why----" he began again; stopped dead, loosed his own arm and
caught hers. "All this while workin' like that! She works too hard.
Jenny, look here: she works too hard. And I--this damned music! Look
here, Jenny, it's got to stop! I'll never play a note again; she shall
never do a hard stroke of work again; never, never--not so long as I'm
here to work for her. All my life--ever since I can remember--washing
and ironing, like--like--the very devil!"
He pulled the girl along with him. "That was what I was thinking all
the time: to make a fortune so that you'd both have everything you
wanted, a big house, servants, motors, silk dresses----And all the time
letting you both work yourselves to death! But this is the end; no more
of that. To be happy--that's all that matters--sort of everyday
happiness.
"No more of that beastly washing, ironing--it's the end of that,
anyhow. When I'm back at the timber-yard----"
He was like a child again, planning; they almost ran down the street.
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