Mr. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. ’ Martha looked up, belligerence in her tone. The hansom sped through the crowded streets. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. Tell him about the island, the coconut dance, the wooden tom-toms; read to him. It arises, I think, from an over developed sense of humour. I can't keep a good man beyond three pay-days. " "Ay, but he will.
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