ROBERTS. [Breathlessly.] No, no, David--I won't!
ROBERTS. There, there! Come, come! That's right! [Bitterly.] Not
one penny will they put by for a day like this. Not they! Hand to
mouth--Gad!--I know them! They've broke my heart. There was no
holdin' them at the start, but now the pinch 'as come.
MRS. ROBERTS. How can you expect it, David? They're not made of
iron.
ROBERTS. Expect it? Wouldn't I expect what I would do meself?
Wouldn't I starve an' rot rather than give in? What one man can do,
another can.
MRS. ROBERTS. And the women?
ROBERTS. This is not women's work.
MRS. ROBERTS. [With a flash of malice.] No, the women may die for
all you care. That's their work.
ROBERTS. [Averting his eyes.] Who talks of dying? No one will die
till we have beaten these----
[He meets her eyes again, and again turns his away. Excitedly.]
This is what I've been waiting for all these months. To get the old
robbers down, and send them home again without a farthin's worth o'
change. I 've seen their faces, I tell you, in the valley of the
shadow of defeat.
[He goes to the peg and takes down his hat.]
MRS. ROBERTS. [Following with her eyes-softly.] Take your overcoat,
David; it must be bitter cold.
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