'Haven't you heard
about it? They've stole the club-money; they've robbed me of it; I
haven't as much as'll pay for her coffin.'
Sidney fancied at first that the man's mind was wandering, but
Hewett took out of his pocket a scrap of newspaper in which the
matter was briefly reported.
'See, it's there. I've known since last Sunday, and I had to keep it
from her. No need to be afraid of speakin' now. They've robbed me,
and I haven't as much as'll pay for her coffin. It's a nice blasted
world, this is, where they won't let you live, and then make you pay
if you don't want to be buried like a dog! She's had nothing but
pain and poverty all her life, and now they'll pitch her out of the
way in a parish box. Do you remember what hopes I used to have when
we were first married? See the end of 'em--look at this
underground hole--look at this bed as she lays on! Is it my fault?
By God, I wonder I haven't killed myself before this! I've been
drove mad, I tell you--mad! It's well if I don't do murder yet;
every man as I see go by with a good coat on his back and a face fat
with good feeding, it's all I can do to keep from catchin' his
throat an tearin' the life out of him!'
'Let's talk about the burial,' interposed Sidney.
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